Ishara
by Madame Mush
Summary: Conquering the Empireo had altered Vincent's life in ways he couldn't possibly have imagined, but after only 6 months, abusing new powers for old relationships is only just the beginning... Catherine True Ending, but with a twist. V x K
1. Primus

"Most people do not really want freedom, because freedom involves responsibility, and most people are frightened  
>of responsibility... to wrangle the words of a certain someone."<br>Dumuzid, quoting Sigmund Freud  
><strong>.<br>_**

**Primus  
><strong>_<strong>**

**.**

"Humans. Isn't it _telling _that the only time they truly enjoy life… is when they are fully committed to throwing it away?"

The words lifted through the heavy, muffled funk, out of place and unwelcome. Philosophy sat poorly in the realm of Chaos. Introspection sat even worse in Vincent's new life. The new Lord of the Underworld frowned at the ceiling of his throne-room; he blew another smoke ring upwards, trying to smother the unwanted wisdom with ash and addiction.

"That's deep," he exhaled languidly, "but I don't remember inviting you to this party."

The _party_ agreed one by one in exhausted, plaintive mumbles and whines. The tangled mess of naked bodies were laid out across the throne's shallow steps like a half-finished rug. The velvet red drapes were their only mattress. There were no beds in the Underworld, largely because no bed was big enough. A few of the newer demonesses shifted lazily, moving just enough to shoot the interloper an acidic glare. Dumuzid didn't appear phased in the least. He was laid out comfortably next to their naked entirety in his full dinner suit. He looked more like a corpse than a participant.

"Take a hike," Vincent added, in case the Shepherd hadn't taken the hint.

"… Forgive me," Dumuzid apologised, sounding utterly unapologetic. "Sometimes these words just come to me. Passing fancies, if you will."

"Yeah, well. Take your passing fancies someplace else," Vincent mumbled, stretching. The movement caused an echo of girlish and excited giggles, but he ignored them, feeling petty and grumpy. He'd been feeling that way for weeks, and he was still trying to figure out why. A familiar finger traced an unsubtle pattern over his chest.

"Leave him be, baby," Catherine pouted, moving like liquid sin against his bare side.

"What the hell does he want, anyway?" Vincent wondered nastily past his cigarette.

"Silly. He just wants to join in our fun."

"Sure, sure, whatever," Vincent yawned. He gave a small jostle with his left foot. The demoness with her cheek pressed adoringly against his ankle made a small, surprised noise. "Uh, have that one. She's new."

"_Actually,_" Dumuzid interjected over the furious exclamation from the demon, "I came to speak to _you, _milord. About business."

"Business- You're _shitting _me," Vincent groaned, smothering his face with a palm. His groan turned into a genuine moan of misery when Catherine abruptly gave his chest a fluttering pat and sat up. She dislodged a few limbs as she did, shedding their consorts like anyone else would shed bedding.

"Ooh, Um... I... I should go, then," she decided aloud. "I mean, I have work today and all, and Pauly is so funny about our appointments. And it's not like I'll be missing anything fun! So don't wait up, 'kay?"

Vincent made a half-hearted grab at her leg, but the succubus stepped free of the cluster and cheerfully made her way down the throne-room's steps as if her day had just gotten better. It was incredibly unfair. Vincent knew his had just gotten much, much worse.

"And the rest of you. You heard the lady," Dumuzid announced. He clapped his hands curtly before adding, "Step to it, back to work! We have a _job _to do, you know!"

The harem dispersed like smoke, pouting balefully at one another as they did. Suddenly alone, Vincent levered himself sullenly up on the final step of his throne room. He put his cigarette out on the heavy crimson drape laid across the floor, hoping maliciously that a fire would start, knowing that it wouldn't. Instead, he struck a match on the corrugated edge of his own horn and lit up another.

Nicotine was the only little human vice he'd brought with him. His habit had picked up because of it.

"Your timing sucks," he muttered.

"What is time, to _our _kind," the Shepherd replied past a broad smile. The expression was weirdly forced. Clearing his throat carefully, Dumuzid adjusted his sunglasses and tipped his head. "It gives us the ability to best apply ourselves, don't you agree?"

"Apply ourselves? Seriously, could you have made that sound _any_more like work?"

The deep lines around Dumuzid's eyes shifted, tugged into an expression that Vincent couldn't see because of his sunglasses. All that was left was that broad smile, getting more brittle and strained by the second.

"I regret to inform you, my Lord," Dumuzid said through his teeth. "That my technicians have been investigating the problem with _rust _in the Torture Chamber. They've deduced that there has not been enough blood to grease the wheels, so to speak."

"Not enough blood, huh?" Vincent mumbled, bored.

"Yes, exactly that. In your predecessor's time, an impressive 95 sheep per calendar month were participating in the challenges, which naturally provided the… uh… lubricant for the machine, if you will. This was quite satisfactory. I hesitate to point out that in the 6 months since you have... _stepped __up_, that number has dropped."

"Dropped, huh?"

Dumuzid bent at the waist, leaning in closer. A dull red light flared from behind his glasses for a moment when his grin revealed teeth.

"Alas, now only 8 sheep arrive for the nightly climb. This, as you can imagine, is a problem."

"How's that a problem?" Vincent complained, blowing smoke into the Shepherd's face. "That's a good thing for your mission, right? It means less fruitless relationships or whatever are happening topside… The way I see it, less is more. Can I go now?"

Vincent heard the grinding of teeth.

"My Lord. Need I remind you that the Tower's contract requires you to provide the necessary succubi to assist in this endeavor. Their aid has the greatest impact on the sheep's morality, as you know. You cannot simply... keep them for yourself."

"Watch me…" Vincent mumbled petulantly, scratching at his naked gut. The very _best _part of being the Lord of the Underworld was this. Dumuzid could huff and whine all he liked, but he'd never dare cross Vincent. No one else would either. There was not a soul, immortal or no, that could make any decisions for him at this point. The very _worst _part of the Underworld was how easily boredom slithered into the fun. Who'd have thought that having things constantly go your way could get dull..?

Dumuzid looked offended. His glasses were beginning to slip, and another flare of red peeked over the tinted rim.

"But- culling the flock is our _purpose_! Our divine right and responsibility! The Underworld is not your local bar, need I remind you, and you have an obligation to-"

"Of course, the Stray Sheep!" Vincent burst out, sitting up suddenly. Dumuzid leapt away from him as if he was expecting a backhanded slap.

"O-O-Of course?" he echoed in stutter.

"Jeez, I couldn't figure out why I was feeling so down and out, you know? When really, all I wanted was a _drink_."

Dumuzid's jaw dropped a little further.

"It won't kill me to take the night off, I _have _been working pretty hard. With the girls, I mean. Hey, I should go right now and- Ah, right. This."

Vincent stood at the height of the stairs and ruffled at his hair, adjusting the familiar old gesture to account for the horns emerging from his skull. No hat in the world would hide them. He didn't need a mirror to know his eyes were no longer blue, and no amount of dim bar lighting was going to hide the shade of hellfire they'd become, either.  
>He stood on the tiered throne room and closed his eyes in deep thought.<p>

"Uh... Should probably ask Catherine," Vincent confessed, thumbing the blunted tip of one twisted horn. "Dunno how to... well, you know. Switch these off. And I haven't worn clothes in so long I can't remember how they work. She'll know how to fix this up. It's her job and all."

"A job that she's in the middle of," Dumuzid managed, appalled.

"Yeeaah, who cares about that. It's just one night! You really need to live a little, 'Zid. Let that hair down."

Dumuzid ran his hand quickly over his slick backed hair as if frightened that it had peeled free of its mould. He jumped again when Vincent gave him an accommodating pat on the shoulder. The pat turned into a not-so-subtle push.

"Go round up the girls."

"B-But, _my __Lord-_"

"Hey, did that sound like a request?" Vincent interrupted pleasantly. "Off you go, now. Break a leg!"

The Shepherd disappeared from the room in a hasty flurry of black ash, looking affronted and indignant as he did. Vincent, unimpressed, waved the lingering cloud away with a flap of the hand. Finally alone, he clapped his palms together and gave them a gleeful rub.

It had been 6 months since he'd convinced Nergal to let him live with his daughter Catherine in the Underworld. It had been 5 months and 28 days since he had beaten the old goat from his throne and taken it for himself. Chaos treated time differently, however. Vincent had counted the months because the determined twist of his horns had steadily pushed out further and further. Catherine had shed her lace and lingerie and let her psychedelic patterning bleed back into her flesh. But past skin deep... well, change didn't happen down here. Not the normal, human kind.  
>But <em>outside <em>of the Underworld? The mystery was the most excitement he'd had in weeks.

Was Toby still simpering after Erica, or had he finally wised up? Jonny had been cutting himself up over some girl that had _no _idea he had it for her bad... Something must have happened by now. Orlando always had some insane scheme in the works. Hell, Erica was always stirring up trouble of some kind, she _had _to have new gossip to share.

The Stray Sheep was about to have Hell open its gates onto its doorstep, and Vincent could hardly wait.

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

The faucet dripped into the grimy basin steadily. Katherine watched the water circle the drain, hands gripping the disgusting sink tightly. Her french nails looked strange to her in the dim light; her bare arms stranger still. She tightened her grip, then lifted her eyes. An unfamiliar face stared back out of the cracked and spotted mirror. The tiny bathroom at the Stray Sheep probably hadn't had a decent clean in years. Katherine looked at her carefully brushed and painted visage through the grime, feeling naked without her glasses despite having spent two months using contacts.

There was a tap at the door.

"S'just me," a familiar voice slipped in through the old wood. "Hope you're decent! Coming in, Kat."

Katherine sighed and shifted to the side. The single bathroom to the bar had never been big enough for one; sharing it amongst the ladies was a disaster, and it was one of the reasons why Katherine had stopped going during peak hour in the first place. Erica slipped in to the narrow space comfortably, purse tucked under arm because she was still in uniform and working. She fished out her bold red lipstick from its depths.

"I wondered where you ran off to," she said around the wedge of crimson.

"I didn't run off," Katherine shot back, arms folded defensively over her chest. "I'm just... thinking. It's hard to do that out there."

"I'll say," Erica laughed. She paused and caught her friend's eye in the grimy mirror. "... So what's got the cogs turning? Is it that message from your boyfriend?"

"Paul cancelled on me. He's working late."

There was a pregnant silence.

"Oh, no you don't," Erica chided at her via the mirror. "Working late _actually _happens sometimes, you know."

Katherine bristled, then swung her eyes away defensively.

"I know that," she managed.

"Good. Because not _all _men are pigs. That's our mantra, remember? Say it with me, not all men are pigs."

Katherine echoed the sentiment through her teeth, if only to change the topic. She flushed when the door opened again and a young woman entered.

The girl was breathtaking. She was blonde with impossible little ringlets, dressed in the kind of white that only the truly bold could wear. She had stunning blue eyes that fluttered when she daintily touched them up with mascara in the mirror. She was humming to herself in that cute, prissy way girls did nowadays.

"Anyway, I like Paul," Erica continued cheerfully, pouting her lips at her reflection. "As far as boyfriends go, he's steady, nice enough... gets along with kids and is good with money. Hey, if he's great in the sack, then you've found yourself a keeper!"

"Can we drop the subject?" Katherine managed, turning her head to scowl at the far wall. The pre-school humming was beginning to drive her around the bend, but just as she began to grit her teeth, it abruptly stopped.

Into the silence, a ridiculously effeminate voice said,

"Oh, _shoot_. Um, hey, does anyone have some concealer?"

Erica was packing away her makeup. She faltered, surprised.

"I thought I had it covered," the strange girl continued, tugging at her bra straps. It took a while to register in the dim light, but there was an unmistakable hicky on the height of her breast, half covered by the lacy hem of her bra.

Why the girl insisted on wearing a dress that hid neither the bra nor the blemish was a mystery. Erica stared shamelessly. She eventually levered her gaze up to cast Katherine a loaded look, then managed to conjure a pleasant smile from god-knows-where.

"Uh, I do. Always be prepared, that's my motto," she said generously, passing over a round compact. The blonde girl did a bad job dabbing away the bruise, then left the compact on the sink edge and pushed herself away from the mirror. She gave her curls a little flick. They bounced buoyantly.

"There," she said, satisfied. "Not that I like hiding my baby's love for me, but, _you __know_… It makes me look skeezy."

She finished adjusting her bright red sash and then left with that stupid little tune again, completely unaware that Erica spent the entire time gaping at her in pure disbelief. Katherine pinched the bridge of her nose, giving a heartfelt sigh. The night wasn't improving. Paul had promised her an elaborate and pricey martini, something classy to celebrate their two month anniversary. Katherine had flipped a coin to decide if she'd accept or not. A fateful Tails later, and her date was cancelled an hour after it was supposed to have started. Being stood up at the Stray Sheep of all places was the truly the coup de grace. Maybe she should have just gone straight home.

The door closed on the questionable young blonde. Erica shook her head as if to dislodge the scene from memory then gave a helpless shrug.

"Anyway, cheer up for me, okay?" she urged quietly. "I-I know it's hard seeing the place again, but you're doing great. The guys are really glad to see you too. Hell, I haven't seen Jonny smile in ages."

"... I guess I've been pretty inconsiderate, haven't I?" Katherine admitted with a black sigh.

The breakup had been her decision. Avoiding her friends _hadn__'__t _been her decision, but it had happened anyway. Ending everything with Vincent had been harder than she wanted anyone to know; she had needed space_, _not pity, so she'd taken five weeks off from work and shut her bedroom door on the world. She'd never eaten so much ice-cream in her life. By the time Katherine had felt like she'd stuffed her stupidity and weakness down into the darkest pits of her heart … well, suddenly the world felt like a different place. It had turned the Stray Sheep into unsafe territory, a place of memories so good that they were bad. Orlando, Jonny and Erica fell into the same pitiful category. She was vaguely aware that her distance might have been hurtful, but it was a hard bridge to cross.

It wasn't until months later that Katherine had finally caught up. It wasn't until she shared a coffee with Erica that she found out Vincent had disappeared as suddenly as she had. No one had seen him since.

It took everything she had to _not _care.

"That pig," Katherine ground out, if only to crush the concern again. "Come on. I'm owed a pricey martini."

The door creaked open. She knew something was very wrong the second she stepped out of the bathroom.

The bar felt muggier than usual, thick with a warmth that had nothing to do with the spring night. The gaudy pink neon lights that the Boss had installed so lovingly had deepened to an almost-red. In the small amount of time that she was in the bathroom, the entire bar had been filled. It was so packed with bodies that there was no room to move; Katherine had never seen so many patrons in the Stray Sheep. Most of them were women. Gorgeous, provocative, simpering women.  
>Erica was stunned.<p>

"What the hell?" she managed.

"Clientele," the Boss said blackly from behind the bar, polishing a glass vengefully. For a self professed ladies' man, he appeared incredibly bitter about the sudden crowd.

Every stool at the bar had been taken, and the wait for a Jaded Lady cocktail was horrific. Katherine spilled most of it in her attempt to get back to the booths, and Erica took the long route on her deliveries just so she could help clear a path.

Katherine was trying to find somewhere to wipe the sticky liquor from her fingertips when Toby erupted from the crowd, looking pale and utterly horrified.

"Woah, sweet-cheeks!" Erica managed, deftly swinging her tray out of the way. "Careful with the merchandise!"

Katherine backed up to avoid the swinging tray, bumping right into Orlando. Half a second later, and suddenly there was a wall of young mechanic in front of her.

"W-W-Wait, don't! You can't! I mean, stop! Like, right there!" Toby shouted at her.

"H-Hey, not so fast sunshine! You went and got a drink without us?" Orlando managed in the same instant, right in her ear.

One was waving his hands directly in her face like a traffic cop, the other had wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a not-so-subtle attempt to herd her towards the bar.

They were bustling her away from her seat.

"W-what's the matter with you two?" Katherine demanded, having more of her expensive drink spilled. Something about Orlando's desperate grin set her on edge. She tried to elbow him away from her, but she'd barely swung her arm back when it was suddenly seized in a tight grip.

"Katherine," Jonny began in a low voice. "T-there's something I wanted to talk to you about... You got a minute? Outside?" His cool demeanour would have been a great deal more convincing if his grip on her arm hadn't been a vice. When she gaped at him, as confused as she was angry, he gave her an anxious tug.

The last of her untouched drink fell to the floor. She stared down at the wet patch, disbelieving.

"Alright, what's going on?" she burst out furiously at them, loud enough to rise above the din. "Are you _drunk? _I just want to sit down and have one lousy drink! Answer m-"

"-you're kidding me… Katherine?"

The whole bar shed its heat and noise in a horrible moment of vertigo. Jonny, Orlando and Toby all froze with the same expression of horror. Erica was the only one that looked back to the booth; the colour drained from her face and she very nearly dropped her tray.  
>Katherine knew then that she didn't want to look.<p>

"Oh my god… _Vincent_?" Erica managed.

He sat in his old seat as if he'd never left it, elbows on the placemat and long legs stretched out under the table. The stunning blonde from the bathroom was plastered possessively against his arm, cheek laid against his bicep and one hand toying idly with his fingers.

Katherine felt her knees give a little. Orlando's stupid bear hug around her shoulders went tight instantly. It was only for a tenth of a second. She used it to regain her balance before anyone could see.

"Is this another of your friends, sweetie?" the blonde suddenly asked brightly. She tugged at the arm pressed against her breasts, all sugar and sweetness. Only her eyes betrayed her. "Hi there," she continued, expression flashing with malice, "I'm Catherine."

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

_Tak-tak-tak_.

"-and I figured that since we were in town and all, we could stop at the movies to see Dread Night 5 – that part with the meat grinder was _so _cool – anyway, then it was late and we came right here! It's not really my scene, but I guess it's okay. This place isn't really built for lots of people, is it, baby?"

Catherine with a 'C' fluttered her thick lashes adoringly at the man beside her, idly swirling her French Martini in her free hand. She'd been talking non-stop ever since everyone had reluctantly crammed themselves into the booth, totally unaffected by the tense atmosphere. Vincent didn't answer her. Whatever conversation the blonde repeatedly tossed his way seemed to go in one ear and out the other as if he was concussed.

_Tak-tak-tak_.

Katherine eyeballed the stained edges of the placemat under her hand, trying not to notice that her ex-boyfriend was staring at her. Too late, she realised that she was drumming her nails against the tabletop. She forced her fingers down flat, taking a deep breath.

"Well, it's not the classiest of dives, but it's home," Orlando murmured, because no one else was speaking. He kept adjusting his hat, as if wanting to hide under it.

"Vince talks about it _all __the __time_," Catherine said expressively. She giggled and made a grab for his hand. "It's good to see it again, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Vincent managed, rousing from his stupor for half a second before sinking away into that dim stare again. Katherine's eyebrow twitched. Toby was standing at the table edge, having traded his spot so Katherine could sit. She hadn't wanted to, but the other Catherine had made such a fuss about her joining in for a friendly catch up that she couldn't politely refuse. She was angry, embarrassed and uncomfortable... but she was an adult. She was going to be civil to the brazen little hussy if it killed her.

"I don't get it," Toby announced suddenly, hands stuffed in his pockets. "So _where _have you been all this time?"

Vincent didn't answer him. Catherine did, in a voice so dismissive it was almost rude.

"Just around," she said before downing the last of her cocktail. She peered at the empty glass for a moment, then bumped Vincent with her bare shoulder. "Scoot, honey! Baby needs her refill!"

She had to prod him in the ribs to bring him out of his daze. Vincent shuffled out of his seat and helped his new lover to her feet, barely paying attention. The casual way that he held her hand made Katherine reach up to adjust her glasses, but she winced when her fingers found nothing. Cursing her decision to convert to contacts, she tugged at the ends of her hair instead. She really needed something to do with her hands. She hadn't found anything by the time Catherine made a fond little tutting noise, danced her fingers up Vincent's chest and then pulled him down for an unnecessary kiss.

Jonny covered his face with his palm and Orlando sunk so far into his slouch that he nearly disappeared under the table.  
>Katherine gritted her teeth. She refused to look, but that didn't stop the noise of their mouths from reaching her ears. It went on entirely too long. Suddenly being the mature, polite adult was a lot harder than it should have been.<p>

"Mmm. You taste like rum and cola," Catherine purred as she pulled away. She brushed her dress off, collected her empty glass and then swept away with a _clack _of her thick heels on the wooden floor. The silence stretched on long after she'd left.

"_Dude,_" was all Orlando could say with a wince.

And then Erica came out of nowhere and belted Vincent with her empty tray.

"What's the _matter _with you?" she hissed, furious.

"Ow, wh-what was that for?" Vincent demanded, rubbing his elbow.

"What was – you can't – that was just - You inconsiderate asshole! Toby, hit him!"

"What?" Toby yelped, leaping back.

"Hey, calm down!" Vincent tried again, looking frustrated and beleaguered. "Jeez, what's the problem now? I don't see you for a few months and this is the welcome I get? Talk about tough love."

"I'll show _you _tough love," the waitress threatened, then drew back a fist.

Katherine brought her palm down on the tabletop with a _thunk_.

"Erica," she ordered, voice harsh even to her own ears. Everyone gaped at her. She bristled under the scrutiny. The plan had been to keep her emotions under control, but they had been too close to the surface, too caustic… Awkwardly, she cleared her throat and ran a hand uncomfortably through her hair to keep her hands busy. "... No one has to hit anyone. Really, it's not a big deal. Don't make it one."

Vincent was staring at her again.

"But, Kay," Erica managed.

"No, I'm serious. Listen, I don't think I'm doing anyone any favours by being here. I should go."

Jonny half rose from his seat, expression partly pleading, mostly sympathetic. His pity and guilt just made it worse.

"H-Hey, you just got here," Vincent said haltingly, almost hopeful. One of his hands had shifted forward, an echo of an old gesture. Katherine very deliberately stopped being mature and reasonable for the half second it took to glare at him. He recoiled from the expression.

"It's okay. I had plans anyway," she said finally, then excused herself from the cramped booth. Thankfully no one stopped her. She felt like she actually had her dignity intact when she forced her way through the strangely packed crowd and towards the door, relieved just to have the whole scene at her back. Most of the women in the bar were watching her curiously as she passed.

The night air was a shocking relief when Katherine stumbled out onto the street. Their town's nightlife wasn't an exciting one; the roads were silent and empty, and even the insects circling the streetlights appeared half asleep. The quiet made it too easy to think. Katherine stood there with her hands curled into fists, breathing deeply and slowly so that she could regain all the air that she'd lost in the stuffy bar. When minutes passed and she still felt suffocated, she tilted her head back until the streetlight touched her face. It was hot with a humiliated blush.

Her eyes prickled suddenly, unbidden, and Katherine stomped her foot in frustration with herself.

She was so busy cursing her idiocy that she almost didn't hear the door open.

"Katherine."

She spun, nearly tripping on her heels.

Vincent stood hidden on the bar's stoop, a shadowy, indistinct figure with an all-too-familiar slouch. He still had one hand on the door, as if it anchored him to the world in some strange way.

"I have nothing to say to you," she replied thickly, retreating a step.

"W-Wait, just-" he began, leaning out of the shadow just enough for the neon-sign to light half of his face. "… Y-you really shocked me back there. I thought the guys would still be around but- well, I barely recognised- I mean, you look-" Whatever tangent he was on surprised him; Vincent let the sentence hang and tugged at his earlobe in embarrassment. He took a small breath before continuing, "What I _mean_ to say is, I'd feel pretty lousy if you left just because of me."

"Vincent," she replied flatly, unimpressed. "What did you expect?"

He paused for a moment to run his eyes over her face. A hesitant smile tugged at his lips when he said, "Hah. Yeah, I guess. Hey… can I buy you a drink?"

Katherine didn't know if she should be enraged or confused.

"Are you - Vincent, you can't be serious! Do you really expect me to act like... like nothing happened?" she demanded starkly. Her cell trilled at her and she swore under her breath when she fished it out of her purse. "Just… Go back inside, you idiot. Everyone's been worried about you."

She was reading Paul's apology text when Vincent scuffed at the doorframe with his boot and said something in a low voice. She didn't hear what he said, but she didn't need to. That halting mumble meant excuses. She snapped the cell shut.

"I have to go," Katherine said with a tired sigh.

"C'mon, what'll it take for you to stay?" Vincent asked quietly, then gave her a charming smile.

It was easy, knowing, self-assured and so unlike Vincent Brooks that it was disturbing. She paused, momentarily dumbstruck. Vincent had always had his own special brand of charisma, but it was that useless, nice and helpless kind that Katherine had never been able to resist. _This_ confidence was new. She found her shoulders dropping from their tense hunch.

But then the memory of a badly hidden hicky rose up to slap her, and whatever was in that smile that had hooked her was dispelled.

"… Go back inside," Katherine ordered belatedly. She allowed herself a small moment of immaturity when she added, "Anyway, that was my boyfriend, Paul. Turns out he doesn't have to work late after all. I'm going now. Goodbye, Vincent."

She left him stunned and speechless on the doorstep. If she'd expected a little satisfaction at the shock, she was severely disappointed. There was no satisfaction. There was just the same old hurt, so spread out and settled that she had no idea who it belonged to any more. She could only set her shoulders against the sensation of staring eyes.

And despite her desperate wishes to the otherwise, Katherine knew deep down that this wasn't the last time she'd cross paths with her unfaithful ex. The truly horrible part was that she didn't know how she felt about that.

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Something a little different for a fandom that favors the blonde. I'm a pretty staunch VincexKath shipper, and I'm saddened that there's not more support for 'em. **I shall do my best to represent!** Also, despite my undying dedication to the TrueKath ending, there's just too much story potential in messing around with _this _one!**

**Firstly, beginnings aren't my strong suit, but I do try. The plot is certainly more involved than it seems.  
>Secondly, Vincent. Demon Lord Vince and Human Vince don't seem to have much in common, and this fic shall try to explore that gap. Forgive the ping-ponging characterisation, it is intentional.<strong>**  
><strong>**Finally, I'm keen to stick to this rating, but this is a _Catherine _fanfic we're talking about. If I blur the lines, please say so and I'll reassess.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Secundus

"Neither a man nor a crowd nor a nation can be trusted to act humanely or to think  
>sanely under the influence of a great fear... to coin the phrase of a certain someone."<p>

Dumuzid, quoting Bertrand Russell

**.  
>_<strong>

**** Secundus**  
><strong>_<strong>**

**.**

Sex hadn't helped. Vincent glared out over the cup of his hand and sucked the life out of his cigarette and, because that wasn't enough, the light out of the room as well.

He let the darkness quiver at the end of the dying smoke for a second before releasing it. Catherine purred happily against his shoulder, curled into his lap like a limp child, touching a fingertip to his chin over and over again as she lilted a jingle at him. Her voice, along with the ditty, was vaguely unsettling.

The throne-room was taller than it was wide today (its dimensions shifted from day to day for no reason Vincent could figure out), and it was blissfully empty. Dumuzid was still sulking about their little vacation, and Vincent had locked the succubi and demonesses out the second they'd returned from the Stray Sheep. The extra bodies annoyed him. The noise they made added to the racket in his head. He had needed, if only for one night, the space to sort out his thoughts.

It hadn't worked.

"That was amazing, Vincent honey," Catherine murmured, lightly dragging her lacquered nails over his collarbone.

Vincent propped his chin upon the heel of his palm and exhaled cigarette smoke through his nose, staring balefully at the warped, distant door and wondering what to do with all his irritation. He wondered if he should track down Nergal to torment the old goat a little, but he doubted he could get away with that. Sometimes Catherine maliciously enjoyed Vincent kicking her father to the dirt. Sometimes she decided to stick up for her precious Daddy, and there was no way to tell which mood she was in until it was too late.  
>Vincent didn't really feel like regenerating any more open wounds or knitting together broken bones, so he decided to forgo the stress relief.<p>

"It's kinda been a while," she was saying. "I mean, company's fun and all, but I like it when you're all possessive and silent and broody… Well, not _totally _silent… that's the first time you've whispered my name like that, you know. I liked it."

Vincent's eyes widened. His demonic lover had her head tucked soundly between his shoulder and throat, and it was no small mercy that she didn't see the guilty expression that flashed across his face. His head had been so full that it had wandered during their tryst. Horrifyingly, he'd been so preoccupied with where it had taken him that he'd vocalised it without even realising it. He grimaced and ruffled at his hair, embarrassed.

"The Stray Sheep was a dumb idea," he moaned earnestly.

"Really? I had fun," Catherine pouted, inspecting her fingernails. "Your friends are funny."

"Yeah, a real riot," Vincent muttered blackly.

Erica wasn't speaking to him. His childhood friend gave the silent treatment like a pro, with an icy wrath so intense that there was collateral damage. Toby had shrunk into a corner and stayed there out of fear, guilty by association. Neither had much to say to him. Jonny had been more sullen than usual, and he'd ended every sentence he uttered with 'idiot'. Orlando had taken it all in stride like he always did, but every so often he had paused mid sentence, chuckled humourlessly, then given Vincent a condescending pat on the shoulder.

Catherine twisted one curl of blonde around her finger speculatively.

"That guy with the dark hair was pretty cute. Maybe we should have invited him home with us for a little fun. I don't mind sharing," she mused.

Vincent choked on his cigarette.

"Who, _Jonny_?" he managed, then gave a heartfelt shudder. "That's just… God, Catherine. No!"

"Spoil sport," she pouted. She gave a luxurious stretch in his lap, then continued, "Mmm, I guess he wouldn't have gone for it. He was _way _into that other woman. You know. The old one."

The air went brittle.

"Jonny? Into… Into Katherine?" Vincent heard himself say. The blonde nodded disinterestedly, smoothing the pads of her fingers along the dark patterns that marked her skin.

It was another ill-fitting thought in a head already stuffed full of them.

Vincent's cigarette burnt out unattended, shedding ash onto the crimson drapes. Colour and light slid chaotically across the walls and floor like an oil-slick, always shifting, never settling… Nothing stayed the same for long down in the Underworld. What was once a door handle was now a snake, and Vincent watched it turn its flat head his way and hiss. But however unstable it all was, there was something inconsequential about all that change. It didn't feel wrong, because what was changing didn't really matter. Katherine hadn't been wearing her glasses. For 5 years she'd made sure she'd had a pair whenever she was in company, because she had confessed to hating how uncoordinated she became without them and she didn't like the upkeep of contact lenses. The short-sighted, clumsy woman that existed when she set her glasses aside wasn't something she had shared with just _anyone_. Her face without glasses had been special.

She had looked different without them at the Stray Sheep, dressed in a way she never had when they were together. She looked less like a no-nonsense professional and more like an interesting stranger with her white-tipped nails instead of blue. She looked like she was dressed to impress someone. It occurred to Vincent that he couldn't remember a time when she'd tried to impress him.

And it turned out that she was Jonny's mystery unrequited love.

And who the hell was _Paul?_

Catherine had grown tired of lounging away the night. Her bored little touches and tickles turned lewd and deliberate, but they were having a hard time dispelling the uncomfortable, disquieted feeling that had just gotten worse.

Wasn't 6 months too short a time to get over a long-term partner? They had been together for 5 whole years. Vincent knew better than anyone that Katherine had trouble with relationships (hell, giving her advice had been how they'd come together in the first place), mostly because she was terrible at anything emotional and was the most guarded person he knew. So who was this man that Vincent's private, reclusive ex-girlfriend had decided to hook up with? What could he possibly be like? When did they meet, and what the hell had the guy done or said to convince Katherine to… well, _trust him?_

Catherine pushed Vincent back against the uneven steps of his throne room, and he found himself staring at the blackened chasm where the roof should have been. The demoness said something as girlish as it was lascivious when she clamoured on top, but he didn't really hear it.

He just heard his own fear, grinding away to itself because change had happened where he didn't want it… and there was nothing he could do about it.

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

Three days passed. They were long days, stitched through with short moments of decadence and lust, then long stretches of boredom and sloth. It took Vincent just three days to realise he was obsessing.

He couldn't think straight. Once upon a time, there had been a small part of him that was pretty logical. It had never been the dominant force in his brain, but it had been there, solving problems and putting everything in perspective and occasionally stopping him from doing especially dumb things. Six months as the Lord of the Underworld had all but killed it.

An echo remained, a small neglected corner of common sense that held out against all the selfish disregard and instant gratification of his new home. It was doing its best to remind Vincent that getting hung up over his ex just because she'd moved on was a really stupid move. It tried very hard to point out that she was entitled to a new lover, considering he'd had one since before they'd even broken up. The trouble with this little voice was that it belonged to an old Vincent that had tried to do the right thing every so often. The new Vincent Brooks, King of the Underworld and Husband of Strife… well, he didn't think very far ahead. He didn't think about the future or consequences or responsibility or, in this case, about anyone other than himself.

He only knew that he had lay the mystery to rest. And if sneaking out of the Underworld when Catherine wasn't looking was the way to do it, then he just had to figure out how.

The first step was to get his not-quite-wife and harem out of his hair. Pretending to send them off to work like a responsible boss was the hardest part of the plan, but Dumuzid had been too grateful to have been suspicious.

The second part was harder again.

"What do you mean, _out_?"

Nergal was a strange mix between terrifying and utterly pathetic. He was trying to be intimidating with his fierce face and blood-red eyes, but the effect was thoroughly ruined by the miniature desk he was stuffed behind now that he had been demoted. The precarious house of cards he was constructing out of sheer boredom didn't help his image either.

"You know, out," Vincent insisted. "Topside. Away from here. Not just the Stray Sheep, either. I don't want Mutton involved."

"Why?" Nergal asked suspiciously, red eyes narrowing on his broad, blue face.

"Hey, do _I _pry into your private life? Just tell me already."

"This is why mortals should never be in charge of admin," the dethroned Lord of the Underworld muttered. He glared at the construct of cards then gave a defeated sigh. "What do you think this is, a shopping mall? Gods do not wander in and out of this realm through revolving doors, you know, we belong here in the nether. Dumuzid the Shepherd has that scummy bar as a vessel, and the succubi have dreams. That's all you need to know."

"Dreams," Vincent echoed, scratching at the side of his jaw. It made sense, in a way. Catherine had only ever come to him while he slept or, as his friends had attested to, partially passed out at the bar. It was probably more complicated than it sounded. Vincent had been convinced that he'd been conscious and sane whenever he was in the blonde's presence, but who knows how Catherine saw the world through his dream state.

Asking her how it was done was out of the question, in the circumstances. Vincent rubbed at the back of his neck and eyed the lumbering demon sitting at the tiny little office desk.

"Well what about that thing you do? Teach me," he ordered, leaning forward so that both hands were dangerously close to the wobbling house of cards. Nergal's red eyes went round as the stack began to tremble.

"It's not something _you_ need to know!" he complained, tugging anxiously on his beard. "You're useless enough at the job as it is without the ability to walk out on it!"

"Do you really want to try me?" Vincent wondered. He placed a thumb against the barest edge of the 6 of Spades to make his point.

Nergal shed large, fat tears of self-pity when he gave in and walked Vincent though the process. It took longer than it should have because sometimes the old goat would talk about planes of existence or special brain waves that a born human like Vincent simply didn't follow. But with the right amount of bullying and pressure, the lessons got a little more detailed and a little less grudging.

Things went a little strange when Nergal tried to explain what a sin-born conduit into the mortal realm looked like.

"It'll be _what_?" the ex-human asked, rubbing at his temples.

"It'll be pink," Nergal scoffed as if Vincent was a halfwit. "Stop squinting like that, you won't see it now. It's noon upstairs, and I like to save it till nightfall. It helps with the image. Anyway, I'm just telling you what you _would_ expect if you could _actually _do this."

Maybe it was because Vincent had spent three solid days thinking about this, but despite what Nergal said, it made a sick kind of sense. It wasn't _too _hard to understand, if you got your head in the right place...  
>It was almost like a window, one moment enormous and far away, the next tiny and very very close. And it wasn't <em>pink<em>, it was __blue_. _A mellow blue, like an undecided sky. Vincent blurred his gaze straight through the house of cards and brought the impossible window into alignment. Without hands, he reached forward and through it.

"It's just a waste of time. A mere mortal-born upstart is _not_ in a position to-"

The light changed.

It had been instantaneous. The black and warped room had simply been replaced with an airy one, too tidy to be anything other than a corporate office. The black energies of the Underworld licked at the walls for only half a second before disappearing; Vincent had seen them only once before, when Catherine's father had crashed his hasty proposal. He knew what his entrance must have looked like from the outside, and he glanced around to check for terrified spectators.

The office was virtually empty. Sunlight winked in underneath a wide set of venetian blinds, and without the heavy, thick weight of sin, Vincent felt light-headed and vague in the air-conditioned room. He recognised the potted plant before he recognised the interior.

Katherine's office was on the fourth floor of Bantam Suits Subsidiary, overlooking one of the most forgettable streets in the world. Despite always keeping the blinds shut on the uninspiring view, it still remained one of the most forgettable offices in the world anyway. Vincent stood by the large, severe desk and tried not to panic. She was sitting in her large, black-leather desk chair. Both of her arms had been folded tightly, and her chin had dropped to her chest, loose hair shielding her face in sheets of ashen blonde. A mountain of paper had been spread across the desk top, and it appeared like she was sullenly glaring at it. As he watched, small licks of her feathery hair fluttered at her cheeks with every slow, even breath.

It dawned on Vincent that she was very soundly asleep. It occurred to him half a second later that he was lucky that she was. He was still in true Lord of the Underworld attire; horned, red-eyed and completely and utterly naked.

The horns and eyes were easy enough, but nerves made him screw up conjuring clothes twice, and he tangled himself in ropes of what was almost denim and cotton. With a bit of focus, he eventually managed to reinvent his old corduroys and leather shoes. He hadn't put any thought into his tee, and it appeared on him black with rough pink letters splattered across the front. Vincent glared balefully at the message 'Love is Over' for a second before giving up and just leaving it. If things went to plan, no one would be around to judge him for his terrible choice of fake clothes.

Vincent thumbed at the edge of his belt apprehensively. He wasn't sure where to start. He'd only ever been in this office once before, and he'd been so uncomfortable at all the staring eyes of gossiping office workers that he hadn't paid much attention. Katherine had been a point of intense curiosity to all of her staff, mostly because she kept her private life carefully hidden at home and her work life very firmly in her office. Vincent could still remember the fascinated and disbelieving looks as the entire floor of employees had scrutinised him - the mysterious and fabled lover of Bantam's Ice Queen.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Vincent started with the photo frame aligned at the corner of the desk. He'd expected it to reveal the mysterious Paul, but was disappointed to see an aged couple there instead. Probably her parents. It had once housed a picture of him and Katherine at Jonny's 30th, but that snapshot of happier times was long gone. Vincent poked curiously around the office as quietly as he could, looking for any sign of the mysterious boyfriend. The bin only held crumpled forms. The desk was only filled with stationary supplies, documents and tissues. The decorative cabinet housed a few generic performance awards, but that was it.

Katherine stole a nap in an office completely devoid of her private life.

Vincent's eyes slid from her peaceful face down to the foot of her chair. Her bag was laid across the dull carpet, half hidden under the desk. She _had _to have something in there – photos, keyrings, notes… a _number_. Something usable. Something Vincent could work with.

He didn't question himself for even a second when he hunkered down and began quietly digging around in her bag. Her purse fanned a million and one business cards at him when he opened it, but the only photo in there was on her ID card. A few scraps of notepad paper had numbers on them, but he didn't recognise any of the names. He stuffed the useless purse back into her bag and swore softly.

And then he saw her cell.

It was purple. She'd had the same ancient, clunky thing for years because Katherine didn't bother keeping up with makes or models. He knew it well enough to snap it open, punch in her security lock and pull up her messages within a heartbeat.

**Sorry darling, the meeting was a false alarm. You still at the SS? Save me a martini and that kiss! Been thinking of you all day.**

Vincent reread it a few more times. He reread it until the words finally settled in his head like bloated weights, ugly and uncomfortable. All he could do was stare, unsure what it was he had been expecting, wondering why so few words could cause such a shock. It looked like a text from a lover. And no matter how far he scrolled through them, they all read the same.

**Last ****night ****was ****amazing - **was where he snapped the cell shut before his eyes could finish skittering over the missive. He felt a little unwell when he stared at the worn purple plastic in his hand, and the want to dump the thing in her purse and teleport away was only outdone by his need to find out _who __the __hell __this __guy __was. _It took him a moment to open up the cell again and navigate away from the disturbing texts.

He made his way through the contact list to 'P', then lifted his thumb to select the only 'Paul' on the list…

A message arrived and the cell trilled, vibrating noisily in his hand.

"Wha-" Katherine started, rousing from her sleep with a jerk. She still had both eyes closed when she groped at the desk with her left hand – searching out glasses she no longer used – and she was yawning when she reached down with her right.

Her fingers were warm and dry on his hand, curling comfortably around his digits as if it was the most natural thing in the world…

Vincent dropped the cell when she screamed, falling over on his backside when she shot up from her chair with a crash. She'd slammed her knee into the underside of the desk, and her shriek of shock was cut off instantly. Katherine hissed instead when she rubbed at the injury, cracking open one eye to look down on him. Vincent scrabbled back a foot or two, one hand raised.

"W-w-wait, I can explain," he burbled, wondering if he could.

"_Vincent?_" Katherine managed. "What-… I mean, how…" She was glancing around her office blearily, still half asleep and very obviously befuddled.

"Sorry for waking you, I didn't mean… to interrupt your nap," he began with a timid wobble.

"I was not napping!" Katherine instantly snapped, not asleep enough to forget her pride.

"Oo-of course you weren't," Vincent conceded nervously. "So, uh… I guess… I-I'll be going now."

He had found his feet and was sidling desperately for the door when she brought her unoccupied hand down on the desk with a _thud_.

"Hey, don't walk away! You still haven't told me what the _hell _you're doing in-" here she had to pause to swallow- "in my office! How did you even get in here?"

She was waking up quickly. And as Vincent stared, the only thing hovering at the tip of his tongue was 'So who is Paul', and even he knew that wasn't the brightest idea he'd ever had. Instead, his mouth moved wordlessly as he tried to forget about the mystery lover for one second and think about his own skin. He tried to forget how much better he felt now that she wasn't treating him like a stranger.

"Well? Answer me! Did Todd let you in? I _told _him to keep his nose out of it and – and were you going through my _bag_?"

_Oh shit, oh shit this is bad. Quick man, think._

"Uuuuhh I was just trying to… to get a number from you. For that guy. Uh, that guy we both know. You know, and I lost my sim when I got a new phone, and I couldn't remember so I… I figured you'd have it, but then you were sleeping, so I-"

"What? What _guy_?" Katherine demanded, incensed. She didn't even pause to think his lie through. Vincent realised that he'd grown used to gullible demons hanging off his every word, and he gaped at her now, not sure what else to say. The cool air was doing strange things to his head. It didn't help that she was looking so… so warm in the shuttered sunlight, either.

She mistook his blank gape.

"Vincent, you can't just come in here and go through my things! Are you crazy? I haven't seen you for six months and now you just appear out of nowhere and invite yourself in to my office?" She ran a hand quickly under all the hair that had spilled forward, then flicked the silken sheet over her shoulder with agitation. "... You know what?" she finally continued with a grimace, "It doesn't matter. If you need numbers, ask Erica. Honestly, I don't know what planet you're on if you think you can just come in here without asking as if you're_ entitled_ to..."

The silence was heavy with unfinished sentences. She sighed instead, and he'd heard that heartfelt little exhalation a million times before. "... Listen, it's been over for months. Enough, Vincent. I don't want to see you again."

She had said as much half a year ago. He wondered why it hurt as badly as the first time.

"W-Wait, Katherine," Vincent heard himself say. The desperation was real enough, but he didn't know what he was asking her to wait for.

And then the door opened.

"Hey Kathy, did you get my text? Do you want sushi for lunch or maybe… Italian..?"

The man standing in the doorway was dressed in an expensive looking suit, one finger hooked in his tie as he pulled it free. The tie was red. He had sandy blonde hair with one of those stupid cowlicks at the front, a broad, squarish jaw and the sort of heavy set build of a guy that should probably have been a labourer. A pair of dark sunglasses were on his face, as if he'd leapt right out of a cologne advertisement and rushed right there.

"Oh I'm sorry darling, am I interrupting?" he asked with an easy grin, and Vincent hated him instantly.

Katherine was pinching the bridge of her nose.

This was Paul? _This _was Paul? Vincent raked his eyes over the barrel-chested man, instantly evaluating and comparing and grading him, wondering what part was the _better _part. Did Katherine really like blondes? Or was it the boxy jaw? She'd never really cared about money, so it couldn't be the pretentious suit, or that sleazy grin that smacked of expensive dentists. He was a big guy… maybe she had secretly liked jocks? She couldn't have. Could she?

And then Paul the New Boyfriend reached up and took off his shiny, expensive sunglasses.

"If this is a bad time, I can wait at reception," he said, but Vincent hardly heard him.

Red. He had red sheep's eyes. The colour of sin and futility, bold as brass until Paul noticed Vincent staring. He offered a fixed smile and blinked… and then the colour was gone. Dark hazel again, as if the vision had never been.

Vincent stood there in shock.

"No," he heard Katherine say, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. "No, he was just _leaving_."

She was moving past him to leave the office. The burly man with the red tie held the door open for her like a gentleman.

"So… Paul, was it?" Vincent asked, loud enough to stop both of them in their tracks. Katherine turned slowly, expression brittle. The man was a little more relaxed, but the look he gave Vincent was fixed and hard, thinly veiled aggression in his smile.

"Have we met?" he asked pointedly.

And Vincent found the sleepless shadows under the man's eyes like he knew he would. He suddenly knew how Dumuzid felt, seeing sinners everywhere and, irrationally, wanting nothing more than to throw them down to the deepest depths of the Tower. Only Vincent didn't really give a damn about the timely progression of humanity, about optimising reproduction or the purity of human husbandry.

Paul was a cheater. He was cheating on _Katherine_.

"Hey, you look a little tired," Vincent said casually, meeting those sinful eyes with a piercing look. He smiled without a shred of sympathy when he added, "… like you haven't slept in _days_. Let me guess... Bad dreams, huh?"

Paul's eyes widened instantly, but Katherine was suddenly between them, lips a thin line.

"_Stop __it_," she hissed. "We're done here. I mean it. I want you gone before I get back."

She strode out of the room with a furious sweep, shoving aside Todd who had been eavesdropping just around the corner. Paul lingered however, giving Vincent a suspicious, hunted look out of the corner of his eye. He looked incredibly nervous, and that was viciously satisfying.

"I didn't catch your name…" the man said sharply, and there was the attempt at a threat in his voice. It might have worked once upon a time, but the Lord of the Underworld simply looked at this stray sheep and smiled.

"I'm sure it'll come up," Vincent replied pleasantly. Paul's eyebrow twitched, right on cue. The blonde cast his eyes about the office one last time – as if searching for more unpleasant surprises - then took a grudging step back. He turned and made his way down the hall with forced calm, as if retreating was something he _chose _to do out of coincidence. Vincent stuffed his hands in his pockets and watched the man's retreating back, no longer smiling.

_I__'__ll __see __you __at __Babel, Paul, _he promised.

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

"Huh?"

Catherine was lounging on the top of the throne-room stairs on her back, head resting on a lower step so that she peered at him upside down.

"Blonde guy. Brown eyes. Kind of fat… A- A chin _this _big," Vincent explained with frustration, waggling his hands out past his ears. The blonde pouted up at him, frowning in a way that meant her irritation levels were rising.

"Um, Vincent," she murmured dangerously through plump lips, "you're not making any sense."

"You _have _to know him," he shot back maniacally. "I mean, how many thick-necked mouth-breathers work in the corporate sector? C'mon think, baby, think real hard. His name is Paul."

That worked. Catherine rolled over instantly, lifting herself up on her elbows in surprise.

"Oh, _Pauly_!" she exclaimed.

"_Yes,_" Vincent groaned. "Yes, Pauly. That guy."

"Sweetie, he's not _fat_," she giggled. "He works out." Vincent stared at her. She cooed at him and reached forward to twirl a finger over his thigh. "Ooh, but you know I think you're so much hotter."

"Listen, just… You're already working the guy, right?" he attempted past a scowl, ruffling furiously at his hair. His lover examined her pink fingernails with a smug little smirk.

"Well yeah, since last week. You're not jealous, are you?"

"I need you to try harder," Vincent said, so far off on his own tangent that he didn't see her expression slide right past irritation and into deadly. She pulled herself up to a sit, daintily brushing imaginary dust off her naked and tattooed knees. He dropped to his own a few steps down and made a grab for her shoulders. She stared at him with icy malice. "C'mon Catherine, you can do that, right? For me? You know, work your magic. Sink the hooks in good and deep, really mess with his head."

"Vincent, honey," she said, arsenic lacing her tone where sugar once did, "You've been acting, like, really weird lately."

"No I haven't," he shot back guiltily, dropping her shoulders as if they had burnt him.

"So let me get this straight… you want me to make this other guy crazy obsessed over me... Why?"

"Why?" Vincent echoed in a voice that cracked nervously. He cleared his throat and attempted, "Well, you know… He's... He's kind of an ass. Not a great guy. Deserves it. And... well he pissed me off back in the day and I just remembered it."

She had the eyes of a serial killer when she stared at him appraisingly, and he wondered when he'd gotten so bad at lying. The moment stretched long like a garrotte wire.

"… Hmmm. Okay," she eventually said, chirpy once more. "He's more fun than the others anyway. I can drop a few appointments here and there."

Vincent nearly groaned with relief.

"Thank you, Catherine, thank you," he burbled, dropping his forehead to her knees. She went back to inspecting her nails and callously crossed her legs to dislodge him. Vincent didn't mind the slight; he had a lot to do if he wanted this to work. It wasn't as if this guy wasn't already neck deep in the curse, but Catherine had a talent for taking the chaos of Babel and adding extra insanity to the already deadly mix. She made the competing sheep meaner, the confessional harder, and if all else failed, she turned a passing anxiety into the most deadliest of Nightmares. Vincent could use that. He was almost tempted to watch.  
>He would have, if he didn't have somewhere else to be.<p>

"So what's the deal?" Catherine asked, expression just shy of curious. "You're not angry because we mess around, are you? I did warn you that I was gonna continue to do this stuff with other guys, you know, and-"

Her pointed little reminder died when she realised Vincent was already heading down the steps two at a time.

"Knock him dead, baby!" Vincent called over his shoulder, "Remember, no mercy! Oh yeah, uh, I gotta go. Talk to you later!"

He was already out of the door by the time the temperature dropped low enough to frost the floor.

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Vincent is a moron, and I kind of like it that way.**

**Wow, thank you everyone for your extremely lovely reviews! It's awesome to know our fandom is tight-knit enough for so much support, regardless the ship! :D  
>I'll be attempting updates either fortnightly or monthly, so please forgive the gaps between chapters and for those even more curious, I keep an update status in my profile.<strong>

**FFic Reader: Good question! Though Vincent's Social Links don't appear past cameo in the story, I have a solid idea about where they'd be after this ending. When I played through CatherineTrue, I found that the Chaos karma responses were _completely _contradictory to your friends' Happy Endings, so I find it unlikely that Demon Vince's influence would have allowed all that marriage and settling down and peaceful days. So in my fic, the whole crew survived the curse, but none achieved the ending that we know they wanted. No Love or Order for those poor saps! Not yet, anyway.**

**As for the other characters, despite this chapter being exclusive Obsessive Vince, there will be breaks in the POV.**

**So thank you all very much for the comments, and I'll see you next chapter! Love isn't Over just yet.**


	3. Tertius

"The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple… to misappropriate the musings of a certain someone."

Dumuzid, quoting Oscar Wilde

**.  
>_<strong>

** Tertius  
><strong>_<strong>**

**.**

It was a normal, quiet night at the Stray Sheep. The Boss was all but glowing with cheer when he cleaned and dried a set of shot-glasses behind his mostly empty bar, aligning them lovingly upon the beer mat. Jonny, Toby and Orlando watched him curiously from over the booth partition. The sound of the bartender enthusiastically whistling Mozart's 5th symphony could be heard over even the jukebox.

"Look at him, not a care in the world with an empty bar," Orlando muttered, lifting his beer in silent respect. He stretched against the old leather of the seats, then chuckled. "Ah, who can blame him. I'd shoot myself if I had to deal with last week's crowd as regulars."

Toby tossed a fistful of peanuts into his mouth and chewed.

"Dude, can you believe it?" he managed through the masticated nuts. "Vincent's back. Hah, and you guys said he was probably dead or something. Do you think he's just passing through or, I dunno, maybe he's back for good?" It was an innocent enough question, but Jonny and Orlando shot each other a loaded look.

"… We'll see," Jonny managed. The memory of last week's disastrous scene still lingered like a storm-cloud over the dim bar. Orlando cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Well, I guess that dream girl of his was real after all," he attempted with a forced grin. "Who'd have thought... How a guy like that keeps striking it so damn lucky... well, it's beyond me."

"She was a total babe_,_" Toby gushed with a ridiculous, infatuated sigh.

"But in front of _Katherine,_" Jonny reminded them emphatically, pressing his thumb against the bridge of his nose. It was enough of a sobering thought that even Orlando shifted uncomfortably.

"Our boy was never the brightest of sparks," he muttered. "Let's just hope that was the last of it."

They nursed their drinks in a sullen silence.

"... About that," Jonny mumbled, smothering his mouth with a hand as he took a drag of his cigarette. "Did you see the look on his face?"

"Dude, don't even go there."

"Hey, I'm serious. It's possible."

"What look? What's possible?" Toby piped up, eyes wide and oblivious. Orlando adjusted his plaid hat and winced.

"Never you mind, kiddo. Drop it Jonny, take it from me, this sort of shit is none of our damn business."

"Hey, no fair! C'mon, don't leave me hanging, what's the deal?"

"I'm just _saying_," Jonny said, jabbing his cigarette forward harshly, "that Vince was doing a whole lot of staring for a guy with his new, young girlfriend attached at the hip. I mean, come on. How pathetic can you get?"

"Hey, don't be so quick to judge, man. Kay _was _looking fine," Orlando replied with a lopsided grin. Both men had taken a gulp of saké and beer respectively by the time Toby clicked. He brought his fist down into his palm when he caught up.

"Wait, you mean… you mean Vince? _Still?_" he erupted. "Woah, no way!"

"Pipe down," Jonny and Orlando muttered in unison.

"But… but hey, that's not a _bad _thing, right? I mean, Orlando, isn't that girl that keeps texting you your ex or something? That's kinda the same."

Both men turned with the exact same expression of indignation.

"Hey, don't compare her to him!" Orlando snapped, just as Jonny berated, "It's not that simple, Toby." Toby switched his surprised gaze between the pair of them, then lifted both thin shoulders into a shrug.

"Why not?" he asked. The silence went brittle for a moment before Orlando heaved an exasperated sigh and fell back against the leather seat.

"You handle this," he moaned, tipping his hat down over his eyes. Jonny puffed up a thick cloud of veiling smoke before he bothered trying to explain.

"Listen, Toby," he began sternly. "Orlando and Moira have their trouble, but it's not like either of them ran off to start new lives. It's not… _complicated. _Vince… well, Vince made his bed. He's got his blonde now, and Katherine has Paul. You can't just dump baggage like that."

"I guess," Toby sulked. His expression was so pouty that Orlando chuckled and nudged the mechanic's beer closer to him.

"Ah, don't take it so hard. It's just some good old fashioned pining. Kay's not the kind of girl to buy into it."

"Erica says she takes being mature to a fault," Toby said guilelessly, just before downing half of his beer in one gulp. "... But... _you know... _Vince."

"I can't imagine he's suffering too hard," Jonny said dryly.

"He'll get over it," Orlando agreed. As an afterthought, he muttered, "So long as he doesn't do anything stupid…"

They mulled over that collectively.

"I think I need another drink," Jonny sighed.

"Beer," Orlando managed with a wince.

"Beer for me," Toby agreed.

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

It occurred to Vincent that he was stalking.

He now knew more about Paul Lane than he did about most of his friends. He knew what he did for a living, what over-priced cologne he used, what parts of the newspaper he skipped and how he liked his eggs in the morning. He was an attorney for a law firm that specialised in copyright infringement, and his daily life ran like expensive clockwork.

Two days. Two days of obsessive observation did little more than blur the issue in various shades of muddy grey. Vincent had been expecting Catherine to have pride of place in Paul's mysterious schedule. What he hadn't expected was the personal secretary taking that position for herself, an unseemly crease in the otherwise ironed routine of the defence attorney. The surprise didn't stop there. Vincent had long ago lost his bashfulness over debauchery, and watching the day-time trysts did little more than confuse him; they were the angry, harried affairs of people that clearly despised one another. That caustic tension ran high throughout the day, and there was something destructive about the way they came together. Paul had already requested her transfer. He didn't know that she had shredded the document in fury when she'd found it.

The next night's worth of 'overtime' was spent at a strip club, which was incidentally where Catherine had manifested herself. Paul and his co-workers passed it nightly; surprisingly, the attorney had a look of pretentious distaste stencilled clearly across his broad face when his legal aide broke away to enter. It wasn't until he was alone on the sidewalk that Catherine had appeared under the pink lights in a mink coat. The succubus was right at home before the shuttered peep-show, and she had grown a few inches in height, traded her short blonde hair for black and her skin had gone from peaches and cream to a rich caramel. Despite the changes, Vincent would have recognised those eyes anywhere. She hadn't been fooled by Vincent either. His new-found demonic powers hadn't hidden him for long; she'd spotted him immediately in the reflection of the club's painted window, a little surprised, mostly suspicious.

But then, with her silkiest look, she had hooked the resisting lawyer by his red tie, then lured him from the half-lit sidewalk. That Paul even latched a hand onto the door jam in a last ditch effort tor resist didn't make much of a difference. Vincent was left alone with his thoughts, not sure how to organise them.

Three lovers. Three women, each as different as the next. Unsurprisingly, both the succubus and the secretary were fully aware of the cheating and enthusiastically participated anyway… But what about Katherine? She seemed out of place in the tangle of sin, and it didn't make sense for her to be apart of that mess. Paul had no excuse.

And, worst of all, the lawyer didn't appear to be struggling with the Tower. He didn't climb as quickly as Vincent had, but he didn't seem to be bothered by it either. He appeared more disgusted than horrified at Catherine's control over him, and that was incredibly annoying. No amount of trap-blocks or immovable-blocks or bomb-blocks seemed to stop the son of a bitch from surviving another night. Every morning, he was free to spend another day as Katherine McBride's boyfriend, sleeping around with the receptionist, twisted around the finger of Catherine the Stripper.

By the third night, Vincent had lost his patience.

The Torture Chamber had never looked so dank. The sheep instantly went silent when he arrived on the Landing, scared stiff by the flurry of black chaos energy. After the last of the crackling had died away, the only sound to be heard was the bell tolling. They stood there, fifteen identical, terrified bodies, gawping at the stark naked man with the demon horns and the hellspawn eyes. They trembled like nervous wrecks when Vincent swept his gaze over them, and they didn't make a sound when he stepped closer. He examined each critically. He saw glasses and hats, jackets and carry bags… but no tie. No stupid blonde cowlick. That left only one place to be. Vincent shoved aside the quaking sheep, then climbed the few carpeted steps to the ornate room at the back of the Landing. He stood there with his arms folded and just stared for a moment. Then, surprising even himself, he reached over and rapped his knuckles against the opaque stained glass window.

"_Excuse __me_, a session is in progress," the shadowy figure within snipped. "... My, the flock certainly are impatient tonight! You'll get your question soon enough, my stray little lamb. Wait your turn."

"Hey, you," Vincent interrupted, rubbing irritably at the back of his neck. "Time's up. This one is mine."

There was a delicate pause. The silhouette sitting primly within the confessional shifted forward ever so slightly.

"_You_," Astaroth said with keen, delighted interest.

"Yeah, yeah, the one that got away, I get it," Vincent tossed back. He unabashedly thumped his palm against the glass. "Come on already, I haven't got all night!"

"My, this _is _unexpected... And here I thought I had you all figured out! To what do I owe the pleasure of your esteemed company, _my Lord_?"

The sarcasm couldn't have been thicker. Astaroth had defied every change that Vincent had brought the Underworld, including the shut-down of the Tower. To this day, the silver-tongued inquisitor had kept his face and identity hidden. To this day, he sat in his confessional as if the new Demon Lord was no more than a minor set back. Vaguely, Vincent tried to remember when the process around the mysterious child-god had started again. He couldn't. The chaos of the place had simply eroded away his human influence when he hadn't been looking. He should have been worried that he hadn't noticed. He couldn't find it in him to care.

Vincent was too tired and pissed to deal with the mystery. He leant closer until he could almost peer through the smoky glass.

"… Kid, I am _not _in the mood," he threatened. "Move it or lose it."

There was a loaded moment of silence. And then, in a blinding flash of light, the confessional was empty. Vincent pulled open the side door and stepped inside.

This side of the confessional was much nicer than the one Vincent had spent his time in. The hard wooden stool had been replaced with a cushioned chair, and there was a goblet of dark red wine on a side-table. Vincent ignored the wine and conjured up a cigarette instead. He took his time lighting it, then enjoyed the first lungful of nicotine as he pulled the door closed again. Within moments, he'd filled the confined space with a healthy dose of smoke.

"… Hey where did the other one go?" a familiar voice asked through the confessional mesh. Vincent blew a smoke ring languidly, managing to rest one ankle on his knee despite the lack of room. He scratched lazily at his stomach and enjoyed the moment for a little longer. "Well in anycase, I'd like to move on sometime tonight, if you will," the person in the other booth continued. "Hurry up and ask your question."

"What's the rush? A friendly guy like you, too busy for a little chat?" Vincent wondered snidely. The sound of Paul Lane shifting his weight on the rickety wooden seat filtered through the tiny grill.

"A chat? ... Well, this is new. Unfortunately, I'm on a roll tonight my friend! Come on, ask away before I lose my lucky streak!" he prompted cheerfully, tone much too light.

"... If I didn't know any better," Vincent replied sharply, puffing up another sizable cloud, "I'd say you're _enjoying _this."

Paul snorted, impatient.

"Well, of course I am. Do you expect me to tremble like those pathetic sheep out there? It's a _little _different for me, wouldn't you say?"

The muffled sound of the bell tolling sank into the stuffy confessional in waves. Vincent turned his head slightly, squinting at the vague shape through the lattice. He'd seen his fair share of sheep over his own climb, and he'd thought he'd seen every type of fear, doubt, denial and insanity that the Tower inspired. Confidence and enjoyment was new. He scratched at the unshaven stubble along his jaw, angrily trying to figure it out.

"... You _do _know you're cursed, right?" he eventually demanded.

"Yes, yes. We've discussed this at length. But don't forget... we had a deal."

"Deal? What _deal_?"

"... You know. I stick to my game plan, no harm done, then I have nothing to fear at night," Paul said sharply. "I thought it was clear."

The words should have made sense. They didn't.

"… What the _hell _are you talking about," Vincent demanded angrily. "Game plan? No harm done? You're screwing around with three women at once, you narcissistic bastard! Is that your idea of 'no harm done'?"

"What more do you want from me? I'm sticking to the rules," was the argumentative reply. Vincent's face turned sharply. He stared incredulously at the motiffed grid, not sure where to begin. He started with the biggest, ugliest thought that crowded up his head.

"… You're cheating on Katherine!" he snapped. Saying it aloud had only fed his temper. Vincent struggled with the way it made his fist close before managing, "And _the rules_? What the _fuck_ are you talking about?"

"… Wait, Katherine? How did you-?"

Paul had clattered instantly up from his seat.

"Heyheyhey, sit the hell back down, I'm not done here!" Vincent warned him. When his adversary's shadow slowly returned to the wooden bench, he reached up to rub the persistent headache from his temples. "Okay, one damn thing at a time. Just answer me this, you slimy son of a bitch-"

**This ****is ****the ****Fourth ****Question, **a heavy voice suddenly intoned.

"Oh for the love of… Not now!" Vincent shouted at it, even as the hefty bellropes were lowered with a loud cranking noise. Paul's silhouette immediately reached for one. The Lord of the Underworld drove a fist into the patterned partition to startle him out of the motion. The impact shook the whole confessional. "Ignore the fucking ropes, _I__'__m _the one you should be worried about!"

It took a while for a sound to break the stunned silence. It was Paul swearing softly to himself. It was muffled at first - he was probably smothering his face with a hand - then suddenly his voice rang out loud and clear.

"Let me get this straight," he said flatly. "You're angry because of _Trudy_? Because that stupid cow is trying to get me fired? Wait, wait, wait... The curse is for unproductive relationships, right? What's that got to do with her?"

It took time for that to sink in. When it did, Vincent's eyes widened.

"I-I mean, how many times do I have to tell you!" Paul continued. "I couldn't care less if the mad bitch disappeared tomorrow - I had no intention of leaving McBride! I mean, I'm nearly forty, I'm not interested in some bleeding-heart, emotional romance and neither is she! Who has the time? She's not the type to max out my credit cards and she's the only woman I know who _likes _the privacy. It may not be pretty, but we suit each other, alright? Christ, I didn't know there was a damn deadline to knocking her up - any more surprises you want to spring on me?"

The dying embers of Vincent's cigarette crawled dangerously close to his unmoving lips.

"No? So how about my question," Paul muttered irritably. The silence turned to ash, dry and insubstantial. Vincent's fingers felt numb when they lifted to pluck the stub from his mouth. He rolled it slowly between his digits for a moment, then crushed the filter flat.

"… Why?" he asked dangerously. And because that wasn't quite enough, he asked, "Why her?"

"Because we _work_," Paul said finally, and he meant it. And with the question answered, he pulled on one of the tasselled Bellpulls.

It gave a great resounding _chonk_, made the room shudder, then suddenly Paul's confessional booth was lifted up and away from the Landing. Vincent was left sitting there, not sure whether he was shocked into silence or simply choked by his fury. He contemplated going up there and taking matters into his own hands, showing the arrogant bastard just what a Nightmare could do...

"Temper, temper," Astaroth chided nastily, eavesdropping shamelessly.

Vincent stormed his way out of the confessional and slammed the door shut on the sardonic voice. The sheep scrabbled away in terror, and he had the irrational urge to shove a few of them over the edge to vent some steam. He lit another cigarette with trembling hands and breathed in deeply.

Murdering Paul and splattering his god-forsaken remains over the basement of the Tower was an option... but it wasn't the only one. He had to remind himself that it was early days yet. Paul had most of the Tower left to climb, and he might be free of anxiety and doubt _now, _but Catherine was only getting started. She had a way of taking even the most arrogant man and twisting the natural order of his life around the corkscrew of her wiles. And when their sanity finally snapped, it was sink or swim in her world. Vincent had swum. Steve and who knew how many others had sunk like stones. There was no reason to think Paul was any different.

Smoke curled like chaotic ribbons through the black air when Vincent exhaled heavily.

The biggest concern, he told himself, wasn't _Paul_.  
>Katherine couldn't have agreed to this sham of a relationship. She couldn't care <em>that <em>much about security or convenience or a functional lifestyle. Things had changed in the six months since he'd started his unlife afresh, but there was no way they had changed _that _much. The Katherine he knew had her frosty defences... but she wasn't ice on the inside. And no matter what had happened between them, or what lives they now lead without each other, it wasn't like Vincent would wish this mess on anyone. It was natural to be pissed. He couldn't turn a blind eye to something so... so _wrong._ Something had to be done.

Vincent nodded to himself and flicked his half-finished cigarette over the edge of the Landing.

Murdering Paul wasn't his only option. There were other kinds of intervention.

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

"It was good seeing you, Katherine," Maggie said happily. "Thanks for inviting me."

"We should catch up more often," Katherine agreed with a smile, trying surreptitiously to pull her hand back. The toddler balanced on Maggie's hip had taken hold of Katherine's finger, and the wide-eyed child was shockingly strong. Eventually Maggie took pity and deftly pried her son's hand away with a laugh. The café was already noisy; the indignant wail of the toddler made it noisier.

Katherine thanked the waitress that offered her extra napkins, then carefully collected her things from the tabletop, trying not to feel out of place. It was funny how a parenthood could turn childhood friends into strangers... And here she was, a thirty-something year old woman, clueless as to how to stop a sticky child from putting pureed apples and drool all over her house-keys and cosmetics. She was dabbing away the disgusting mess when her childhood friend spoke up.

"So… Beth was telling me you've got a new boyfriend," Maggie suddenly said. Katherine tried very hard not to grimace.

"Yes, that's right," she replied.

"Good for you, good for you…" was the careful reply. There was the barest of pauses. "So how is he? Nice? Do you click? Too soon to tell if it's serious?"

Katherine had the urge to stab her strawberry cheesecake with her fork. Instead, she dropped an extra sugar into her already cavity-inducing coffee, then tried to be nonchalant when she recited the same explanation she'd used on all of her curious friends and family.

"Paul's a nice guy. We both live for our work, so we don't see each other as much as I'd like. He's taking me to Tahiti if he gets his bonus this month, though."

"Wow, fancy!" Maggie said brightly.

_Don__'__t __say __it_, Katherine ordered in her head, teeth clamped tightly together behind her fixed smile.

"Hah, he sounds better than your last boyfriend already. Well done you!" Maggie said in a gush of insensitive relief. "I mean, I _liked _Vincent, don't get me wrong, but imagine wasting five years of a woman's life! When she's over thirty, no less! As if we can wait around forever for them grow up and join the rest of the adult world."

Maggie's boy started trumpeting random noises then, a constant, tuneless song that jolted with every bounce at his mother's hip. Instead of shushing him, she just raised her voice to uncomfortable levels.

"I mean, you're not getting any younger, you know! If you want kids, it's gonna have to be soon considering your biological clock is running out of ti-"

No willpower in the world could have stopped the wince. Katherine touched her fingertips to her forehead in a small gesture of discomfort; Maggie's tirade stumbled to a halt and her face fell.

"Oh... Oh, I'm sorry Katherine. I didn't mean…"

"It's okay," Katherine interrupted. Her voice was disgustingly strained when she added, "I have my career."

After that, she did her best to send Maggie and her son away with as many reassuring smiles as she could. Katherine had to remind herself that she couldn't _blame _her for being concerned. She couldn't really blame someone so lucky for being so insensitive and oblivious, either. She could only give a frustrated sigh when she returned to the counter to pay the bill by herself.

Katherine was a career woman. Marriage and Children were supposed to happen afterwards, but lately she'd found that imaginary deadline was closer than she realised. It was all her friends, parents and doctor could talk about, as if applying more pressure would make it easier, not harder. As if being a wife and mother had nothing to do with the heart and everything to do with age and social standards. In retrospect, thinking that _love _was involved was probably why Katherine was over thirty and single, while most of her friends were long married with their obligatory checklist of children and mortgages.

Katherine had loved Vincent, for all his faults. She had wanted to deal with all this with him, if only because no one else could cheer her up with stupid, clumsy consolations like he could. No one was as sweet, or as adorably useless. It was easy to be strong when you had someone else to be strong for, but when she had taken it upon herself to step up and push him like she always had… Well, it had been very different this time.

Vincent had buckled in the worst way imaginable, then disappeared as if he hadn't a care in the world. That Katherine had been stuck with more cares than what she'd started with hardly seemed fair.

"That pig," she ground out again, making the waiter behind the till jump.

When she paid the bill, she shouldered her bag and excused herself into the café's bathroom to tidy herself up. Apple-puree had gotten everywhere, and she was forced to lay out all of her sticky, goopy things around the edge of the sink to clean out her bag. She was tossing away a dirty wad of tissue when something moved in the ornate mirror overhead. She glanced up, confused.

"Katherine."

The voice was right in her ear. She shrieked.

"Woah, take it easy!" Vincent burst out, so close his breath ruffled her hair. Katherine tore herself away from the familiar smell of cigarettes and half tripped against the bin; she'd have fallen completely if her ex hadn't shot an arm out to wrap around her shoulders. She gaped up at him, utterly off-balance, wedged uncomfortably between him and the paper towel dispenser.

"You again?" she broke out, heels slipping over the tiles as she tried to right herself. Her failed attempts only made him tighten his grip, and suddenly he was much too close.

"I need to talk to you," he said seriously, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. There were deep lines around his eyes. His hair, normally an unruly mop, was hanging over his expression in limp clumps. The resulting shadow made his eyes look less like blue and almost ruddy… But then the light shifted and the russet hue was gone.

As she gaped at him, Vincent's changing eyes moved slowly between hers, brows dropping and pinching curiously. He really was too close. She could see the way his lips shifted, could see the way he wavered forward over her. And when she'd processed her shock and found her feet, all she could think to do was give him an acrimonious shove.

"What the heck are you doing? This is the _ladies __room_!" Katherine hissed, trying to back away from that suffocating proximity. He genuinely looked surprised at that. He took a moment to glance around the ornate little room.

"Really?" was all Vincent said.

"Yes really! And… And the door is locked - how did you get in? Are you _following_ me? And why are you half naked?"

That surprised him as much as the women's washroom had. He stared down at his own bare chest for a baffled moment before blinking with realisation. He crossed an arm over the expanse of skin and scratched at his shoulder sheepishly; despite his bashfulness, there was no sign of a t-shirt anywhere. Had he _walked_ into the café like that?

"I-I was in such a rush, I messed up… uh… dressing," Vincent explained with a toothy grin.

"You're serious," Katherine managed. She squinted at his dishevelled face suspiciously. A thought occurred, and she backed up another step. "Vincent, are you… are you on drugs? You are, aren't you? What's happened to you?"

"What? No! Listen, Katherine, I just need you to hear me out, okay? It's really, really important. You can do that for me, can't you?"

Shadow clung over his head in a strange way when he stepped closer, and the flash of red was back from beneath his shaggy hair. A cold weight of foreboding dropped in Katherine's stomach; her ex had a strangely unhinged look in his eyes, and he kept moving closer, kept dragging the shadows with him. Hurriedly, she tried to gather up her sticky things.

"No," she snapped belatedly. "This has to stop! Go away, Vincent, I mean it!"

The lipstick and organiser and office keycard crashed into her open bag in a mess, but her keys slipped out of her shaking fingers and jangled around the basin. She groped after them uselessly. Vincent reached out to place a hand against her back, but the instant he touched her hair he pulled back as if the contact had stung. He looked boyish and embarrassed suddenly.

"C'mon, Katherine, you just need to listen," he eventually managed. She had finally fished the keys out and was moving them over her bag when he said, "It's about Paul." Katherine turned then, eyes wide. She had dreaded this topic. She was already shaking her head.

"Don't… you say a word," she threatened in an uneven voice. But it was like he hadn't heard her at all.

"I want you to stop seeing him. He's no good for you, Kay. You've gotta call it off."

She gaped at him. Rage so hot it made her cheeks tingle flooded her head, and she barely had the presence of mind to lean away when he moved closer yet again. He crowded her now, hair a tousled silhouette against the lone light in the bathroom. Shakily, she placed a palm on his bare chest and tried to shove. It was like pushing at a monolith, and Vincent didn't even notice.

"It's for the best, trust me," he said with a reassuring smile. "You don't need a guy like him."

She said nothing when she reached over with her free hand and scrabbled in the sink. Eventually her fingers found what she was searching for, and she snapped the cell open. She fumbled a number in, but kept hitting the wrong keys.

"You're calling him?" Vincent asked with a relieved sigh.

"No," Katherine replied breathlessly. "No, I'm calling the police. This is harassment." She had almost managed the final digit in calling the emergency number when Vincent suddenly tore the cell from her hand and tossed it over his shoulder. It was such an aggressive, uncharacteristic act that Katherine was stunned silent.

"You're not listening," he said heatedly. "You've got to believe me when I say this guy is _seriously _bad news! I'm telling you the truth!" Katherine roused herself from her shock. She pushed past with a furious jostle to gather up her phone, but it occurred to her that she hadn't heard it hit the wall or floor. It was nowhere to be found.

Katherine stood there and stared for a long moment of confusion before finally coming to a decision; she gave up on the cell and snatched up her bag instead. There were still things in the sink, but suddenly they weren't so important. All that was important was getting out of the suffocating little bathroom and away from the crushing presence of her ex-boyfriend. She was reaching for the bathroom's latch when Vincent's hand suddenly shot past her vision and slammed against the door. She jumped, staring at the muscles on his forearm as they corded and shifted for violence.

She had never thought that she could be frightened of Vincent Brooks.

"Paul Lane," Vincent breathed in her ear, patience stretched thin, "is not the man you think he is."

"What are you talking about?" Katherine snapped. Her fright had flipped into anger. She felt lightheaded with it when she spun in the prison of his arms. Vincent was leaning heavily on the hand pressed angrily to the door, hedging her in like a schoolyard bully. His eyes were hard underneath the shadow of his hair.

"Paul is a cheater," he said in a low, firm voice. "He's cheating on you with two other w-"

Katherine slapped him.

"How _dare _you," she exhaled. "After all you've done." Vincent stared at the wall for a moment as his cheek turned a smart pink, then turned back to her slowly. Katherine was never good at letting her emotions out; her hands were shaking with the strain of it when she continued, "Y-You can't just sweep into my life like this! Where do you get off? Are you out of your mind? _You__'__re _the one that couldn't keep your hands to yourself! _You__'__re _the one that got bored with _me_! You have no right trying to- to judge me or who I choose to be with!"

"This isn't about me-" Vincent began cautiously.

"Isn't it?" Katherine erupted. "Why are you even _here_, Vincent? I don't need your help! I-In fact, I know damn well where I am and what I want out of this, and nothing you say is going to change my mind! I'm going home now. Get out of my way."

His eyes widened at that, and Katherine was both viciously pleased and doubly ashamed that she'd hurt him so effectively with so few words. But if she thought he would move away from barring the door, she was wrong. He just straightened slowly, expression slipping into one she didn't recognise. Katherine let him have his sullen silence. She tried to catch her breath, but her righteous anger was leaking out with every exhalation. Despite her best attempts to stay furious, it wasn't long before she was empty. As always, she just felt stupid and embarrassed after showing her raw emotions, and she was suddenly self-conscious about how her breakdown had made her look. She tugged at her shirt and ran her shaking hands carefully over her hair. But when she glanced to the side to see how much of a wreck she was in the mirror, something else caught her eye.

Vincent Brooks was swathed in shadows. They curled like smoke around him in the reflection, muffling and eating the light like a bad special-effect. Through the shifting ink, Katherine could very clearly see a pair of twisted, enormous horns emerging out of his hair. And when he realised she was gaping at the mirror, Vincent turned his face and met her eyes in the reflection.

His eyes were red. _So _red that they smouldered and glowed like a banked forge, staining the air umber. They widened suddenly in surprise and realisation.

"Wh-wh-wh-what is this," Katherine stammered, back pressed against the door. Her hand, without her even realising it, was already rattling uselessly at the locked handle. She had stop and try to unlatch it, but the very normal looking man before her suddenly slipped an arm around her waist and tugged her away from it. Terror made her freeze instantly. In the mirror's reflection, the wafting shadow had swallowed her up like morning mist.

"It's okay, Katherine. Calm down, baby, deep breaths," Vincent said hurriedly in a low voice, locking her tightly against him. The old endearment hung in the tiny space between them. She should have struggled, but she couldn't drag her eyes away from what the mirror revealed. She watched as the horned version of her ex-boyfriend blushed slightly at his slip up, then ducked his head closer. "I don't want to do this, Katherine, but you're leaving me no choice. It's for your own good. Y-You'll thank me when this is over."

"I don't-" was all that lifted through the panic. _I don't want to be here. I don't know what's happening. I don't think I can deal with this..._ It had come out mangled into one and embarrassingly hoarse. Vincent placed a hand gently on the back of her head.

"You'll come to see, I promise," he explained.

Katherine McBride didn't need a mirror to see the sudden explosion of black, chaotic lightning that arced up and began to lash the tiny room. It was all around them, dangerously close to her skin, so with a shriek and nowhere else to go, she covered her face with her hands to shield her eyes.

And as the energy suddenly compacted down over them like a clenching fist, the last thing she felt was Vincent giving her a little squeeze, as if chaos, horns, red-eyes and the past six months had never happened at all.

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hahaha, poor Kay. If Catherine taught Vince one thing, it's to act on whims, I guess. :D**

**In regards to the many questions from many switched on readers: I was planning on writing this story in true Catherine style; primarily from Vincent's limited and hilariously flawed Point of View. That being said, I figure I can answer questions that aren't big ole spoilers. Thus;**

**Paul Lane: is NOT the very first victim from the game. This is a coincidence... also a common name! Please treat Kay's new boyfriend as an OC because he is one. *cough*  
><strong>**Jonny: has asked Katherine out already in the very same fashion as the Freedom endings. And like then, she has turned him down.  
><strong>**Dumuzid: His deal was very much honored, but Vince saved his friends, not humanity. Why the Tower is continuing on is a mystery...**

**... So as you can see, we're getting a slightly twistier plot now. Laden with creepy moral / philosophical undertones to keep the cogs turning. The world is painted in shades of grey, not Pink and Blue, after all... See you next chapter and Stay Golden!**


	4. Quartus

"All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on… to pilfer the ponderings of a certain someone."

Dumuzid, quoting Henry Ellis

**.  
>_<strong>

**Quartus  
>_<strong>

**.**

"I'm returning this."

The scuffed, well loved book was dropped unceremoniously on the baroque coffee-table. The words "_Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure" _were looped gracefully over the crimson leather in gold leaflet.

"Ah, Fanny Hill," Trisha said rapturously. She lifted the book and thumbed through a few of the aged pages. "The carnal escapades of a young woman with the burning fires of adventure and curiosity running wild through her veins. Mmm, and what did you think of her love-affair with young Will? Doesn't it just set your heart all aflutter?"

"No," her guest said in monotone. "It is filth, Trisha. Pornography. You said it was a romance."

"Oh honey, passion comes in all shapes n' sizes."

That may have been true, but in the Underworld passion usually only came in one shape, in one size. It was the goddess Ishtar's kind of love. It was the kind that burnt hot and blinding and brief, skin-deep and full of rapture. Trisha had established her private lounge at the very heights of the Underworld for that very purpose; there were no walls or roof to her bar, because private and privacy were two very different things to her. There were just the velvety loveseats and lounge suites, a set of enormous gold-framed paintings hung on easels, the plush carpet, one mahogany bar with its liquor cabinet… and her precious television. It was set upon the bar top and currently hissing white noise into the open room, waiting patiently for something relevant to show.

Trisha's visitor wasn't very impressed. The woman stood very carefully in the middle of the lushly draped and carpeted almost-room, not touching anything, not looking at anything either. She was subtle where Trisha was glamorous, lovely where Ishtar was sensual.

She was currently looking at the television with a strange expression.

"Does it always do that?" she asked. Trisha slid elegantly down from her barstool and tipped her head to see.

The crimson television was tuning itself, wheedling through stations that no mortal man could see. An image began to focus and what eventually rose up from the snowy reception made Trisha's eyes widen. After a small moment of bemusement, she placed a manicured hand on her hip and chuckled.

"Well now," she purred. "He _does _move fast… And here I thought I'd have to wait." She reached forward and helped tune the television the rest of the way. The scene that snapped into clarity was too intriguing to ignore.

"How strange," the other woman said.

"How delicious," Trisha corrected, giving her chaste counterpart a wink. "I simply adore a thrilling scandal, don't you sugar?"

And, because it was the only thing they could ever agree on, both women leant in closer…

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

This couldn't be happening.

This wasn't happening.

Vincent had surprised her in the bathroom of the Viva Espresso, that was all. It had been a jarring, severe shock. She'd slipped and, in all probability, hit her head on the sink or the wall or something. Everything afterwards was obviously the result of a head-injury. At the very least, it was the delirious hallucinations of a concussed person. Small imps with faces as flat and broad as a snake's skull gaped up at them. And when one the arms currently crushing Katherine's ribs lifted free to shoo at them, they scattered like rats, tripping and tumbling over the strangely organic floor in their haste to get away.

"Ugh, damn pests… I thought I told Nergal to deal with those," Vincent muttered.

Walls of stretched gothic architecture rose up all around them, breaking perspective in bizarre ways as they intersected with staircases and platforms up above. A large, lumbering creature with chaotic red fur was walking up (or down) a flight of stairs that had emerged from a window sideways. Large golden statues of various kinds simply hung in the warped space, twisting serenely. Katherine turned away again.

A concussion, she decided. She was probably on her way to a hospital now, being stabilised by no-nonsense ambulance medics who were breaking all kinds of traffic laws to get her to an ER. She'd wake up any second to see a clean, sterile hospital room with Get Well flowers and cards on a side-table next to her intravenous drip. She could see it now. Slowly, she turned her face away from the neck she was pressed against and stole a look. There was a pit. A haphazard mountain of ornate blocks had been piled there as if a colossal child had upended his toybox. Only these blocks had rusted and cracked and most were spattered with something dark. And then Katherine saw the sheep. There were hundreds of them, broken and smashed against the sharp edges and unforgiving planes. Shocking amounts of blood and internal organs had burst free on impact and had dried wherever the splatter had come to land. Mummified strings of intestine stretched from block edge to block edge like gory spider webs. Almost human limbs were bent in impossible ways, and long, black faces were stretched in that one final, silent scream.

There was no stench, but there was no mistaking the clumped, sludgy forms found near the foot of the mountain; decomposition had created a swamp of flesh that appeared to be slowly eroding the enormous pile of stone.

"What is this?" Katherine heard herself exhale. She had begun to see wristwatches and hats amongst the gore when a hand suddenly slid over her vision and guided her face back to warm alcove before her.

"Ah, jeez… Someone… should probably clean that up, huh?" Vincent mumbled guiltily, holding her head very firmly against his throat. His voice thrummed against her forehead.

"Vincent?" Katherine managed, but her voice betrayed her and arrived as a whisper.

"Hahaha… How to explain…" Vincent managed humourlessly.

The trip had been chaos and insanity. Katherine hadn't even realised it _was _a trip until they'd arrived, standing in what could only be described as a psychedelic hell. It couldn't have been more unlike the tiny little bathroom that had been in only moments before, and that scene had been shredded up into ribbons by black lightning only for _this _panorama to be stitched together in its place. It had to be a nightmare. This was beyond a concussion.

"For the love of- what is _this?" _a distant voice exclaimed.

"Oh _shit_," Vincent moaned, and he steered her away with a sudden shove. Katherine staggered when he surged past her, and she suddenly found herself alone in the warped landscape, staring at the crowd of creatures that had started to gather. They were impossible to describe or categorise. Exotic, naked women stood side-by-side with scaled, horned beasts, and there was no rhyme or reason to their size or appearance. An ugly little toad with teeth like tombstones stood at the very front of the assembly like a gawking child. It eventually turned to nudge at the knee of the enormous figure wearing nothing but an executioner's hood behind it. Impossibly, the towering man's cowl twisted its stitching into a smirk. They milled there like a street full of curious pedestrians, and Katherine realised that the spectacle was _her_.

She fell back a step, voice frozen like dry ice in her throat. Her back struck something freezing and damp and her first instinct was to pull away with a jerk. A hand the size of a dinner-plate swept in past her ear and seized her chin with clammy, gummy fingers.

"A _human_," an impossibly deep voice rumbled, winching her face around so firmly that she was forced to turn on the spot. "I'm sure of it. I can practically _taste _it."

The man was several heads taller than was natural, and his glistening skin was the colour of a drowned corpse. Beneath a pair of slots where his nose should have been, an avid smile had almost split his skull in half; it made his grey face look like a sprung bear-trap, grey and steely. With a reflexive snap, Katherine's shoe shot out and drove into the creature's shin before she could stop herself. It had been a knee-jerk reaction, an act of pure instinct, but the only thing the kick achieved was to drop the grin from the creature's pallid face. She hadn't even scuffed his pasty skin. The nauseatingly slick fingers at her chin squeezed suddenly, and that impossibly broad mouth cracked open with an alien rumble. The contents of Katherine's stomach curdled when a strap of almost-pink flesh rolled out; the forked tongue was the size of a snake when it unfurled outwards, and it undulated in the bizarre light as it reached for her lips.

A hand seized it, causing the tip to thrash like a furious eel.

"You've got to be kidding me - is this how you greet _all _our guests?" Vincent managed, more awkward than disgusted at the slab of squirming flesh he held in his fist. He cast Katherine a quick, worried glance, then turned back to peer up at the demon through the mess of his hair. "C'mon, you're embarrassing me." His tone was light and chiding. The flare of red from under the trailing ends of his hair was dangerous. The moment stretched just a little too long, but eventually the ghoulish man gave a shrug.

"..My apowogies, madame," the demon finally managed past his caught tongue. The disgusting fingers at Katherine's jaw peeled away from her skin one by one, but there was still a malicious glint in his black eyes when he added, "Where are my mannahs? Where wouwd you wike the tongue _firtht_?"

The forked flesh gave a shudder when it was all but crushed, then obediently retracted with a curl.

"Yeah, don't mind that guy," Vincent said in a low voice when the demon skulked away, limp tongue cradled miserably in his hands. "He's… He's a little sleazy." Katherine sucked in a shuddering breath and leant away from him, wondering when she'd gone insane.

"This is utterly outrageous!"

… And as the white-suited bartender pushed past the motley crowd with a look of pure alarm on his face, she knew that her psychotic break had happened at the Stray Sheep a week ago. Vincent had never turned up out of the blue with a 20-something swim-suit model as his girlfriend, she had never seen him in her office rummaging through her things, and the past week of waking up every morning expecting to see him snoring into her spare pillow was all a part of the madness. How else could you explain the bartender standing amongst Hell's minions?

The Boss was so flustered that entire clumps of grey hair dangled over his deeply creased forehead.

"You brought a _human _here?" was all he could manage in horror. "You brought _her _here? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Well, she just needed a place to crash for a while and I tho-"

"_Crash_?" Boss sputtered, face going as white as his dinner suit.

"- Just until I figure out what to do about this jackass she's seeing. Don't worry, I've got it under control. I give it a week. Tops."

The air was rattling in Katherine's lungs with every breath. Her ribs felt like broken old shutters in a gale, and she was too bewildered and terrified to blink the sweat from her eyes. Her hands flew to her mouth when a void opened barely three feet away, and it twisted and lashed the floor in a familiar tangle of black lightning. Only this time, the storm wasn't whipping around her, and the creature that popped into existence wasn't human.

"Alright, where in the blazes is he? I came as soon as I heard!" the enormous demon bellowed. He was a colossal blue man with bleached horns and goats legs, his dinner-plate eyes burning red in a wide, stretched face. Cloven hooves stamped angrily across the ground when he turned a full circuit, and his face darkened when he finally caught Katherine in his gaze. The black striping over his skin rippled surreally. "What in the- _who the hell is _this_?_" he roared.

And Katherine screamed.

The sound tore itself from her throat so harshly that it hurt. It razed every scrap of air in her lungs and made Vincent, the Boss and this new lumbering demon leap back in utter fright. The sound even drove the milling crowd back a few feet. Katherine screamed until the taste of iron became a tang at the back of her tongue, and she screamed even as the sound exhausted itself into a wheeze. Something pathetic and thin replaced it then, and it wasn't until even that had died without the sufficient air that Vincent dared step back.

"What the hell was that?" she heard him fume. "Are you _trying _to give her a heart attack?"

"I-I-I apologise, I just-" the demon stuttered awkwardly.

"Never mind that," the Boss interjected suddenly. "What were you thinking bringing a mortal here? That's - It's just - This has never happened before!"

"I can tell," Vincent muttered petulantly, then took the moment to steal a glance at Katherine's face. She could hardly see him through the blur, but there was guilt in the way he examined her.

"What I mean to say is, my Lord… Have you really _thought this through?_"

"You make it sound like I needed to book in advance," Vincent said next. "Last time I checked, this was _chaos_. Deal with it already."

Chaos? The lumbering blue demon with the impressive beard was wringing his hands nervously, thoroughly chastised; the proprietor of the Stray Sheep was grimacing so deeply that the lines on his face appeared painted on. Ash had begun to gather across his shoulders for no reason Katherine could discern. The crowd crept back in like cancer, the scenery continued to warp around them, and Vincent Brooks stood calmly at its centre like some human shaped world pillar. It was disgusting how reassuring it felt to be standing closer to him rather than farther away.

The Boss cleared his throat genteelly. He pushed his black sunglasses up and then gave a rigid bow at the waist that made him look like a clockwork toy.

"Well then… May I ask where his Lordship intends on keeping her?" He said it like she was a pet.

"Where else?" Vincent asked, oblivious to the loaded inflection. "You think I'm gonna leave her with those guys over there? Give me a break, she'll be staying in the-" The silence snapped shut over the sentence and left it broken and unfinished in the air. And as he swallowed thickly, the corners of the Boss' mouth tweaked upwards into a smug smile.

"… in the throne room?" the bartender finished pointedly. "With the rest of your entourage? With _her Ladyship_?"

Vincent went white.

"What about my daughter?" the blue demon burst out. Despite the way he towered over both men and crackled like a thunderstorm, he was thoroughly ignored. The Boss gave a helpless shrug.

"Well," he continued with a gleaming smile, "I suppose no one knows her ladyship's _limits _better than you do, my Lord. If you feel that including this newest addition into the fold is wise, then-"

"No," Vincent interrupted loudly. "No, not the... throne room. I'll think of something just... just give me a minute." He noticed the bartender's grin for the first time and pointed a finger at him harshly. "And don't breathe a word of this to Catherine, you'll just make it worse! She can't know about this... Yet! She can't know about this _yet_. I- I'll find a way of explaining it… but if anyone is going to tell her, it'll be _me._"

"What about my daughter?" repeated the blue demon, who was steadily turning purple.

"Nothing!" Vincent snapped at him. "God_dammit,_ would everyone just shut the hell up for five damn minutes and let me _think_?"

Five minutes turned into an hour.

It took them that long to come up with a solution. In that time, Katherine's insanity was able to fester, peak and then unravel into a dull confusion. The bizarre trio had moved a few feet away to argue amongst themselves, and the space left her no choice but to think things through. Katherine wound up with so many questions that she was delirious with them, and it wasn't long before the shock of the afternoon finally caught up to her in a nauseating rush. She sat herself down on a half-buried block and managed not to throw up, but she was still dizzy and freezing when Vincent finally peeled away from the other two. Not even the strange warmth he continually exuded could stop her from shivering like crazy.

They called him 'Lord'. A lot. The argument had been one of the sorriest things Katherine had ever overheard, mostly because it wasn't really an argument. The bartender and demon had fumed and begged and reasoned and explained until they were breathless, but Vincent appeared immune to losing. Nothing they said stuck, and it didn't take a genius to see that _somehow_... somehow Vincent Brooks was in charge of all this. It was the strangest nightmare she'd ever had.

He rubbed tiredly at his neck for a moment before he finally crouched down by her knees and said something in a low voice. The horns protruding from his skull jutted forward ridiculously far, so she had to lean away to avoid touching them. It wasn't until he repeated himself for the third time that Katherine registered what he was saying.

"Who's Nergal?" she asked hoarsely, vocal chords rubbed raw.

"The blue guy," Vincent clarified, and he looked relieved that'd she'd spoken. "I've reworked his office into somewhere for you to stay. It's not... well it's not the Ritz, but no one goes in there unless they have to and it'll do for now. I've told him to keep an eye on you."

Katherine finally met his red eyes. He let out another relieved breath and offered her a tentative smile.

"He's not as bad as he looks," he said next. "I mean, he _acts _scary, but he's really just a big push-over. If he gets on your case, tell me and I'll deal with it." The blue demon in mention was standing sheepishly off to the side, too far away to hear their conversation but close enough to fidget when he caught Katherine staring at him. Vincent waited for her to reply, but she didn't know what to say. His expression shifted restlessly when he carefully selected his next words. "... This... This must seem pretty crazy, huh? It took me a while, too. But it's not so bad once you get used to it , and… well it's just until I settle things. Try to take it easy until then, okay?"

Now she wondered if _he'd _lost his mind. All of this because of her boyfriend? Paul's aura of ego offended most everyone he met within the first few seconds, but wasn't this a little extreme? Was a cocksure smirk and a little bit of chest-beating really enough to justify _this_?

Whatever Vincent's motives were, they weren't simple. Katherine couldn't believe it was something as mundane as concern, or something as convenient as jealousy. She had cut him away as quickly and cleanly as she could, after all. She'd done everything in her power to give _both _of them a fresh start, and 6 months should have been enough. It looked like it had been enough; she barely recognised the man at the Stray Sheep, fingers tangled with his new lover's on the bench top. It was a public intimacy that Katherine had never been able to give him – it suited him, and somehow that had hurt more than how young and gorgeous the blonde was.

He had obviously moved on. So why was she here?

"Take me home," Katherine ordered quietly. The corner of Vincent's mouth creased.

"Will you call it off?" he asked earnestly, as if he wasn't acting like a dictator.

"No," she managed with all the ice she could muster.

"Then you leave me no choice," Vincent sighed good-naturedly. He flapped a hand impatiently over his shoulder, and the blue demon reluctantly lumbered into motion. He was tugging miserably at his fingers when he arrived, and the smile he offered Katherine was more like a pained grimace.

"A-At your service," he rumbled bashfully.

"If you need anything, just ask him," Vincent explained, rising from his crouch and gently pulling her up with him. "I'll come check up on you when I can."

He lingered a moment, as if there was something crucial he needed to say, but no amount of false starts seemed to summon a full word from his lips. He was forced to ruffle at his hair, give her shoulder an awkward albeit friendly pat, then turn and move away. He had taken five strides when a black door hedged with lightning opened up and swallowed him whole. And as chaotically as that, Vincent was gone.

Katherine stood there shivering, eyes dropped to the floor while 'Nergal' stamped about and shouted at the spectators until they all scuttled away. He was muttering vengefully to himself when he returned, shoulders hunched and brow furrowed, but his expression shifted when he caught sight of her face. One cloven hoof scuffed at the floor.

"My office – uh, I mean, _your room _is this way," he eventually managed, scratching nervously at his beard with one hand while ushering her along with the other, "I'm told you'll be staying for a while. Oh, and... Sorry about the mess. We weren't expecting visitors."

He didn't touch her, she noticed. When she stood perfectly still, his enormous blue hands flapped and pressed at the air around her like he was a mime-artist, and it wasn't long before he began to sweat bullets under her unresponsive stare. It was almost pitiful.

"He-He was very firm about getting you safely to your room, miss," Nergal said haltingly, polite and simpering and totally and utterly terrified of her flat-out refusing him. She wondered what sort of power she held over this ten-foot monstrosity. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the power she held wasn't hers at all. Still shivering, she fell into step behind the monolithic creature and wondered about her ex-boyfriend and his place in this nightmare.

It was really hard to tell if the scenery changed as they walked. The shadows were far stronger than whatever light existed in that bizarre landscape, and inky blackness swallowed up any details past a few yards. Every so often, an ostentatious piece of gothic architecture or bawdy shop front rose up from the fog, but was just as quickly blotted out again. She picked up her pace when they passed a brothel – the horned, naked demonesses were altogether too excited to see her– and she bumped her guide with a shoulder in her haste to move on. Katherine excused herself out of habit; Nergal rubbed at his elbow and, red eyes wide with surprise, studied her curiously. What felt like an eternity later, they arrived at what appeared to be a very boring door set in an elaborately styled wall.

"… This is it," Nergal rumbled. His fingers flashed and a key appeared out of nowhere, huge and silver and ludicrously gothic. He unlocked the door and swung it open.

The room within was strangely familiar. The walls and floor were still the black and twisted organic mess that seemed to make up the rest of this chaotic realm, but heavy red drapes had been haphazardly unfurled across the enormous floor space. A tiny set of footsteps lead up to a dais on which a king-sized bed sat; its four posts speared like twisted tree trunks all the way up to the distant ceiling, and there was no order in the way the mantle and pillows had been piled on top. Strangest of all, a fortified window stretched the entire way across the far wall, decorated with cheap, lacy curtains.

Katherine had assumed she had been spirited away to some black cave. She couldn't have been farther from the truth. There was a breathtaking panorama outside of dark hills rolling beneath a caustic green sky. The view was crisscrossed with miles of scaffolding that had been fused together by gaudy neon lights.

"Where am I?" she managed when she stepped into the room.

"My office," Nergal muttered blackly. It was then that he seemed to remember who he spoke to. His grim expression crumpled instantly into a sycophantic smile, and rubbed his hands together beguilingly. "That is to say, the best view in all of the Underworld. I trust everything is to your liking? No?" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Is it the curtains? I've been told to make things as _painless _as possible during your stay. A-Anyway, I suggest you stay put, mortal. You've already stirred up too much interest."

He wasn't wrong. Just on the edge of that inky fog, the milling shapes of the crowd had returned. Katherine turned tired and blurry eyes back up to the towering demon while he smoothed and tugged at his cravat nervously.

"Hrmhm, well," he grunted. "If you need anything, just speaketh my name and I'll come. Nergal, by the way."

And when she didn't reply, he left and gently closed the door behind him as if she were a child up past her bedtime, sealing her away with the confusion and chill and the view of gaudy chaos.

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

Vincent stepped out into the empty room and felt like he could breathe again.

The portal had shut with a fizzling snap behind him, locking away that strangely charged atmosphere with it. He stood there, suddenly lost at the bottom step of his own throne room because he forgot what it was he was supposed to be doing. He forgot what else he should have been worrying about. Katherine was safely out of human reach, something that cleanly absolved the most pressing of his problems… but he couldn't remember a time when he had ever seen her so frightened. It didn't sit well. It left a heavy, lingering anxiety deep in his gut, and he continued to stand there, not sure what to do with all his worry. He tried to blame Paul, and found that harder than it should have been.

"Helloooo-"

"_Ohgod_," Vincent burst out, leaping aside. There was a shift of white, black and platinum blonde over his shoulder. Catherine had tip-toed her way up behind him, fingertips barely there over his ribs in a vague attempt to tickle him. There was something slightly claw like about the way she curled her digits, and his skin prickled in anticipation as he tried to gather his scattered wits.

"C-Catherine?" Vincent broke out, pulling a half-constructed grin into place. He fought down the urge to glance guiltily at where his portal had disappeared. "W-what are you doing back so early?"

She blinked her red eyes at him. They slid downwards and lodged on how, without realising it, he'd defensively seized her wrists. He whipped his hands back as if stung.

"I'm done for the day, silly," she said smoothly once he'd released her. She tilted her head curiously, then with a miniature smirk, she slid straight past his gesturing hands and pressed herself against his front. "Nothing exciting happened at all. I was reaaaally bored. Hey, we should do something a little crazy tonight to make up for it. Do you like the sound of that, baby?" With a giggle, her hands roamed a capricious pattern down his spine. Her breath, hot and sticky, struck his chest in waves. Catherine's touch was never predicable; even the greatest moments of ecstasy could flip instantly into pain at the drop of a hat, so his expectant shiver was double-edged.

Vincent forced himself to relax. He'd already be bleeding if Catherine knew about their impromptu visitor, so he just had to keep his cool. He was slowly sinking in to her teasing touches when her hands abruptly stopped. She lifted her face, red eyes hooded.

"Honey," she said, expression flat. "Why do you smell like perfume?"

Dread crashed like a leaden weight into the pit of his stomach.

"Uh, I was… kinda bored without you too," he began haltingly. He paused to swallow, then continued, "so I took the afternoon off and spent some time with the girls. Nothing great, just passing the time you know." Her nails shifted back into motion until they had reached the indent of his hip. Catherine looked entirely unconvinced as she held him possessively by the waist.

"And you're in _clothes_," she pointed out, gripping his belt and giving it a plaintive tug. "You _never _wear clothes anymore."

A trickle of sweat made its way down his temple. She was still watching him with the eyes of a hunting cat when she lifted her hands and threaded her fingers through his hair. With both fistfuls for leverage, she pulled him down into a kiss. It was unexpected. Vincent gave a small start, but her lips were full and coaxing against his. Their teeth clashed for a small, aggressive moment before she drew him fully in. Around the time his toes began to curl was when she pulled away, pink tongue lingering at the dip of his lips.

"You're not _hiding _something from me, are you?" she wondered against his mouth, nails imprinting sharp little crescents into his scalp.

Despite the little peaks of pain amongst the pleasure, Vincent wavered forward into her. She was like a fog, and suddenly the complicated knot in his stomach was slowly fading away in the blur of it all. He leant into it, feeling lighter already.

"O-of course not," he lied, but easier this time. He even managed half a grin when he added, "Things have just… been weird since the Stray Sheep. I don't know, something about the way the guys looked at me… And this whole deal with Paul. It's just got me wondering if… I'm doing the right thing." It was strange saying it aloud. He felt better. With his doubt and remorse hanging in the dark air like ghosts, it was hard to feel attached to them. It was suddenly and blissfully impossible to care, so Vincent shook his head and chuckled. "Hah, pretty stupid, right?"

"You think too much," she agreed, clearly disinterested. "If you want something, you should just go for it. Who cares about the other stuff. It just ties you down."

Vincent stared over the top of her blonde head and exhaled. She was right, of course. He was complicating matters. Katherine would forgive him when she saw the truth, and who cared about Paul Lane's bizarre reasons anyway? There was no point feeling guilty or unsure. He was just doing what he needed to, and everything else was just background noise. He was so relieved to have the weight lifted from his mind that he didn't notice the dangerous glint in Catherine's eyes when she moved back in for another kiss. He returned it enthusiastically, one hand fumbling with the stupid belt he no longer wanted to wear, the other gripping his lover's middle. She hummed into his mouth, moving against his lips and teeth like silk. He fought down a grin when her tune turned cheeky; she had taken his lower lip between her white teeth and teased at it.

Vincent yelped when she bit down, hard.

The taste of blood was a sudden assault against his taste buds. He tried to pull away, but she clamped down doggedly until he gave up and a warm trickle began to drip from his chin. She worried at the wound vindictively, then released him with a chill little giggle. Her pink lips were red. Vincent clapped a hand over his mouth and stared at her, stunned.

"I don't like it when you have fun without me," she said dangerously. Her stained lips pulled into a pout when she added, "Don't forget, I'm your Number One. _Right_?"

"Y-Yeah, but did you have t-" Vincent began, wiping the blood from his chin with the back of his wrist. Catherine pushed the arm away and pulled him to her. And when she brought her mouth back to his, eyes still open and full of warning, Vincent tried to figure out if the kiss hurt or felt good. It was impossible to tell, and it wasn't long before the chaos of it had swallowed him up once more and seared away the last of his unfinished thoughts.

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

Erica's flat was a one bedroom studio apartment on the bad side of town. It was a broken down little hovel that stole the space above a liquor store. It leaked when it rained and retained heat in the summer like it was its job, but it was cheap and even better, the only name on the rental agreement was hers. Erica had always shared apartments with friends, ever since the day her parents had thrown her out and locked the door on their disowned son. Of course, all those friends had all married and moved on now, and it was as they say... beggars can't be choosers.

Erica Anderson looked up at the single window above the liquor store and, despite the cracks and crumbling brick, admired the very red curtains she had strung up in defiance to the world. She loved that little rat-hole of an apartment and everything that entailed.

She set her groceries down to free her hands, bags crumpling at her feet.

"Well, if it isn't miss Erica," a familiar, ever-so-slightly creepy voice said.

"Fancy seeing miss Erica here," its equally unsettling twin replied.

Erica almost stood on her overpriced bunch of bananas when she turned. As it was, the bottle of olive oil made a dangerously sharp noise when she knocked it over onto the pavement with her heels. Lindsay and Martha were standing behind her. It was impossible to tell which one was which without their usual introduction; they were like the sea and sky, a never ending reflection of one another. Both had identical purses clutched under their bosom, and both were standing just a touch too close for comfort.

It took a while for Erica to wrest her social grace back from her shock.

"Now wait just a minute, I recognise these lovely faces," Erica managed impishly. With a wink for good measure, she added, "You look a lot like a charming pair of ladies I know, but I can hardly tell in all this day light." Both women giggled and twittered at one another in delight and Erica smiled. She glanced down the empty street and tipped her head at them both. "You girls really surprised me there, what brings you to this side of town? Don't tell me it's the sweeping views or the quaint back-street culture!"

"Oh my word, no," Lindsay said cheerfully.

"We are just passing through, my dear," Martha added pleasantly.

Erica examined the pair of from the corner of her eye.

"Just passing through..? Well don't stay too long, y'hear? You wouldn't believe the shady kinds of characters we get around these parts, and that's the truth," Erica warned them with a wave of her finger.

"Oh, don't you worry yourself on our account, dearie," one twin reassured, just as the other said, "We are tougher than we look, you know."

… Tougher than a jonesing junkie with a flick knife? Erica couldn't imagine where the pair of them could be going that forced them through the slums like this, but it was definitely a little odd seeing them standing there. Something was never quite right about a room with them in it, and the feeling was even worse out in the open on the seediest side of town. Their severe, thick-heeled shoes were set firmly on the grimy ground as if it was the _street _that was out of place and not their sweet faces. It occurred to Erica then that she knew nothing about them. They were some of the chattiest of her customers, but they had always talked endlessly about the other patrons of the Stray Sheep, always about their precious Mr. Morgan, Todd, Archie, Justin or Daniel and Anna...

Erica pressed the pad of his thumb into the edge of her keys and pursed her lips together.

"Well, you'll want to be careful heading home, okay?" she told them, suddenly concerned for the eccentric old ladies. "Hmm, actually, maybe I should walk you to the bus stop..."

"_**The cycle has begun again.**_"

They said it in unison. The air trembled when they did, like a bell that was too deep for hearing had just been struck. The feeling was still reverberating through the depths of Erica's chest when the two old women suddenly turned to one another.

"Much too soon, wouldn't you say Lindsay?" Martha lamented.

"What is the world coming to, Martha?" Lindsay agreed.

"Do be careful won't you, miss Erica? Beware a story that has not ended."

"Beware an end that has no future, dearie. Keep you and yours close, won't you?"

"Uh," Erica managed, sliding her stunned gazed between them both. They had officially raised the bar of creepiness to lofty new heights.

Their smiles cracked then, wrinkled lips pulled back over impossibly white teeth. Eyes blacker than an overcast midnight watched her expectantly, unblinking…

And then her grocery bag finally tipped over. Mandarins, tomatoes and yoghurt tubs tumbled noisily across the asphalt in a cascade of thawing food. The spell broken, Erica swooped down and snatched them up before they could all roll into the gutter. She was stuffing them all back into the brown paper bag when she heard the old women step into motion.

"Goodness, look at the time," Lindsay was saying on her way past.

"Oh my, we mustn't be late," her twin replied.

They left Erica crouched over her rampant groceries, shuffling away at that determined, careful pace of theirs.

"A-Are you sure that's the right way?" Erica called out once she'd found the words. The pair of them were headed towards the derelict metal-works factory, as if it wasn't a dead end in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

"As sure as can be!" one of them called back, though which was a mystery.

Erica watched them owlishly until they finally disappeared around the corner. She continued to watch even as her carton of milk began to go lukewarm. A little while after that, time shyly stole back onto the grimy street as if it had been hiding in an alleyway until the women had left. A car passed, engine hiccupping. A window opened with an angry _shak _and a cat knocked over a garbage can.

"D-Did that just happen?" Erica wondered, touching her fingertips to her cheek. The world continued on as if it hadn't, so with a shrug, she hefted her groceries and awkwardly let herself in to the hallway that led to her apartment.

Leaving the street behind was a relief. The musty, narrow stair well that lead to her front door was as claustrophobic as usual, but the muffled, badly painted walls crushed away the last of the lingering confusion. For all the cracks and stains, Erica was home. She stole a glance at the loose brick in the wall on the way past (it was where she usually hid her spare key), but it looked the same as always. She resisted the urge to pry it aside and check. As it was, she hadn't even gotten her keys in her lock before she knew; the sound of the television she hadn't left on filtered through the heavy wood of her front door, loud enough to annoy the neighbours.

Erica was smiling when she juggled her groceries into one arm so that she could unlock her apartment.

He was sitting on the end of her sunken old couch in front of the television, mismatched socks bare on the dark burgundy throw-rug. Erica eased the laden bag in her arms down by the kitchen door, then paused to admire the view. Her largest bowl was resting in the cup of his lap. It was filled completely up with frosted flakes covered in what may have been half a tub of choc-chip ice-cream. One laden spoonful hovered between the piled bowl and his ajar lips, dripping globules of liquid sugar the whole while. As she watched, Toby suddenly gave a great guffaw of laughter, then dropped the spoon into his bowl so he could swat a hand at the television in delight.

Erica tried to keep her smile from becoming a full-blown smirk when she leant against the door jam. She checked her watch, then cleared her throat delicately. The canned laughter from the TV drowned it out. Erica decided to break vigil by rapping her knuckles loudly against the wall.

"Hey there, sweetness," she purred as he shot to his feet in a jumble of wiry limbs. Miraculously, he juggled the full bowl up the entire way, finally locking it against his chest like an aegis. They stared at one another for a moment.

"E-Eric… a," Toby managed, stumbling over her disjointed name like it was a tripwire.

"Surprised?" she replied with a wink. "You _do _know this is my apartment, right?"

"Huh? Oh! I-I-I- I was just d-dropping by. Y'know c-coz I… uh… I forgot my bus fare. S-See, there it is. Yep. T-Totally… forgot."

It was still sitting where he'd left it on her coffee table. Erica smiled down at the offending ticket, wondering what he'd forget next time to warrant the weekly visit. She shook her head at his 'forgetfulness' when she dropped her bag by the door, then took the long way to get to her side of the couch. She dropped to it as if she didn't have an avid audience. The ancient cushions swallowed the curve of her spine in slow measures, engulfing each ache greedily. Erica released a lungful of air before lifting a leg, one red high-heel dangling lazily from her aching toes.

Toby gaped at the swaying footwear with wide, baby-blue eyes.

"Be a little more careful with your things, k?" she chided him, running her fingers through her hair to find tangles. "Jonny can't be around to keep an eye on you forever, you know." She had said it in a bid to rile him up – anything to break that awkward stare – but instead of the affronted babble she expected, he just stood there with his mouth opening and closing uselessly. He fidgeted nervously at the edge of his bowl.

"Um, hey dude?" he began. Half a second later and he realised his slip up with a wince. "I-I mean ma'am? Wait, I mean… _Aw jeez_… Uh, E-Erica?"

It was hard not to wince right along with him.

"Hmm?" She was punching steadily through the channels on her television to distract herself. Most stations shared a breaking news report.

"Don't… Don't tell the guys I was here, okay? I mean, I'm just picking up some stuff and all... They don't need to know 'bout something like that, right?"

"Cross my heart," she replied cheerfully. It was the same request she'd heard a million times before, and like always, she took pity on his drawn face and tossed him a line. "Say, be a honey for me and put away the groceries? I'd do it myself, but my feet are killing me."

"Huh? Oh sure," Toby managed, grim expression vanishing instantly. He shoved one final spoonful of sugared flakes into his mouth before he disappeared into her kitchen at a determined lope. It wasn't long before she heard him begin to bang and crash his way through the unpacking.

Erica didn't know whether she should be flattered or depressed. It had been like this for months. Things had never been the same since the Orlando's constant stream of unsubtle hints had finally knocked together in Toby's brain and stuck … but despite that, despite knowing the truth, here he was. Every week, without fail, she would always find him on that couch, eating her food and watching her TV as if he belonged there. She still wasn't sure _why._ It wasn't the clandestine romance she had envisioned, either; conversation was stiff and awkward no matter how she joked or teased, and it didn't take a genius to see that Toby subconsciously nurtured a fixed distance between them at all times, as if her secret was an invisible wedge in the air. Erica knew better than to push. A sweet kid like Toby needed time to figure things out.

She gave up her channel surfing hunt for something interesting on the television, then tossed the remote to the couch cushions in resignation. The news was everywhere. Erica was rubbing at her aching instep when she dropped her eyes from the anchorwoman's face to the scrolling marquee below.

A little of the street's strangeness slunk into her cosy apartment in slow, sinister measures. Erica stared.

"T-Toby? Have you seen the news?"

"What? Oh yeah, it interrupted the wrestling like, five times. Crazy, huh?" The fridge opened and closed, sending a waft of cold through the cozy little apartment. "… Hey, at least it's not happening here, right? You guys _totally_ freaked out about it the last time, remember? That was _hilarious._"

The small list of the deceased was only four names long, but there was something about the way 'updates soon' was stencilled afterwards that made it all very ominous. Erica didn't recognise any the names of the young men, the media had taken to calling the epidemic a 'flu', and the outbreak was centralised in another city entirely… but what the victims held in common was enough. They were all men, all in the prime of their lives, each one dying alone in their sleep. Their corpses were found wasted and drained, as if they had been running for so long they had burnt their life out in their escape. Erica recognised it for what it was instantly.

The nightmares were back. Not for her, not for the poor saps at the Stray Sheep that had somehow woken up every day haunted but hale… but back. Only this time, she didn't know who to turn to.

This time, she had no idea who to blame.

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**.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A slightly beefier chapter with all sorts of goings on! Thank you everyone for your reviews again, I adore how many questions I get, really I do. XD Please feel free to tell me what comes to mind, I adore all kinds of feedback. **

**FanficReader: haha, you predicted the twins' appearance when I was halfway through writing their scene! I definitely got supernatural vibes from them... did anyone else?**

**Anyhue, will try to stay consistent through the busy future, and until then, Stay Golden!**


	5. Quintus

"We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love… to forward the thoughts of a certain someone."

Dumuzid, quoting Tom Robbins

**.  
>_<strong>

**Quintus  
>_<strong>

**.**

The greek symbol for 'male' was blown up and set alight in neon red, angled imposingly over the Tower so that it bathed the climb in hell-fire. It was all you could see when you looked up. It was a looming, thrumming reminder to the desperate sheep as to why they were even there in the first place.

Vincent was lounging not-so-comfortably upon one of the metal torture devices dangling from the gloom, back supported by an enormous suspension chain and feet propped up on the empty shackles. The rusted scythe swung lazily. His slouch nursed every ache he suffered from Catherine's 'something crazy', and he prickled all over as the cool air slowly dried the sheen of sweat on his skin. The bell was ringing. It had been tolling for some time. Down below, the tower rumbled right on que to its internal clock. In a bizarre display of defiance, nothing happened afterwards. Vincent tapped the ash from his cigarette, nonplussed. He hadn't been here for long and his head was still foggy with the afterglow of sex, but if there was one thing that would always be solid and sure in his mind, it was _this_. Vincent knew this Tower like he knew the back of his own hand. When he was human, he knew its every edge and cheap-trick because studying it on the Landing was the only way to guarantee he'd wake up the next morning. Now that he was... something else, he understood the chaotic powers that drove it. He knew when those forces weren't functioning right.

The lone sheep a few levels down had been sitting there when Vincent had arrived. It didn't take a genius to see that he was _resting_. He had taken his respite on the edge of a standard block, black, bare feet swinging lazily against the stone as if he was enjoying the view. A red tie dangled unbound like a rope over his woolly shoulders.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Vincent groused past his cigarette, not caring that the motion cast ash down onto his still sticky stomach. The sheep jumped.

"Who's there?" Paul demanded, not quite surprised enough to get up. His head turned to and fro in search.

"You're pretty close to the top, you know," Vincent deflected, annoyed. "Six... Seven steps and then you're done. Do you _really _have time to take a breather?" He peered downwards and counted silently to ten. The Tower trembled on time. Once more, nothing happened.

"That voice_… _you were in the confessional!" The scythe swung like a pendulum, neatly slicing the minutes into seconds. The single sheep finally twisted in the right direction; Paul clapped red, sinful eyes on Vincent and spent an insolent handful of heartbeats just staring. He then leapt to his feet. "Wait, _that face-!"_

Vincent let him gawp. Past Paul's defensive stance, the descent of blocks cut a vaguely familiar pattern into the gloom. It was harder than it should have been recognising the layout; Vincent had rarely looked down while he climbed, least of all when a nightmare was on his heels. Still, that particular set of unmovable blocks was tugging at his memory, and he continued to rake his eyes over the view even as the sheep below suddenly jabbed a black finger at him.

"You-You're that guy from Katherine's office!" Paul finally burst out, shoulders dropping in revelation. He struggled with the concept for a full minute before breaking out into a derisive snort. "She told me about you, you know," he continued. "You're her deadbeat ex, right? The moneyless slob that left her for some no-name broad he met in a bar." There was a pregnant pause. "So why the hell would _you _be here..? Wait, I get it. This is some kind of half-baked attempt at psychology, right?"

In an aggravatingly vain gesture, the sheep ran a black hand over his forehead to lift his drooping cowlick. Satisfied, he continued, "So some guy looking like Katherine's ex shows up to make me _evaluate _myself. Is this supposed to make me question my worthiness? Please, you could have done a little better than him."

Vincent let the scythe swing.

"…When I asked her, do you know what she said?" Paul asked quietly, long face tilted to the side. Bluntly, viciously, he added, "She said you were a _disappointment. _That's it, nothing more, like you were a cheap phone that broke. So nice try, asshole, but it's gonna take more than that to make me feel threatened_. _McBride is with me."

Vincent exhaled smoke into the air and it came out black and clotted and dangerous, spreading wide like contagion. The entire area was a sudden wash of red, and it wasn't until he glanced back to the male symbol overhead and found it unchanged that he realised where the new light had come from. His eyes had flared. When he shifted his gaze back, Paul's stance had gone stiff and his black skin was now the colour of dried blood.

"With you?" Vincent wondered in a low voice. As one, every blade in the Torture Chamber screamed from one junction to the next with a collective _shrank_. And with his eyes driving even the black shadows into hiding, he saw everything this final step of the Torture chamber offered. He saw the bead of sweat roll down Paul Lane's black temple. He saw the defused bomb blocks. He caught the distant shape of the nightmare door that should have vanished up in smoke when the climb began. Most importantly, he saw the strange set of scaffolding overlaying the old network in the background. Someone had hastily welded the girders into place and used neon signs to seal the major junctions.

They shouldn't have been there. Vincent's eyes narrowed when he stood up on the swinging scythe.

"_You_? Don't make me laugh; you don't even know where she is," he muttered angrily. "... Ah, screw it. I don't have time for this. Have fun surviving the night, buddy."

For all the calm, accommodating words, Vincent was so murderous that when he swung his eyes back to the misplaced neon lights, they buckled and began to contort under his red glare alone. The glowing pink signs screamed, shuddered, then popped. One by one they exploded in a violent shower of sparks, and the force of it rocked the Tower and sent Paul shoulder-first into a wall. With an ear splitting _screech_, the new scaffolding bent free and fell away into the black smog. The darkness grew darker without the pink glow.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Paul snapped. "What do you mean 'where she is'? Hey! Answer me!"

The tower heaved to its internal heartbeat and, for the first time since Vincent had arrived, did its job and shed the entire lower level of blocks. The nightmare door spiralled away with them into the gloom like a lost memory. Paul had finally followed Vincent's gaze downward. He froze at the sight of so much precious platform dropping away. The silence afterwards folded them up.

And then the blackness condensed and chuckled throatily.

"_What the fuck..?" _Paul breathed, then abruptly threw himself backwards. His voice had cracked. His next gasp was a wheeze when he scrabbled like a cockroach out of the way; a blue hand the size of a man suddenly surged up out of the fog and slapped down on a lower platform.

"Shhhhh." The sound rolled past them like an autumn mist. A second cadaverous hand rose up to grip the other side of the Tower. Impossibly, a third, fourth and then fifth emerged to clamp on as well. Vincent watched impassively as the Nightmare, finally unshackled, winched itself higher in a shift of shadow and whispers.

The almost-woman may have been the size of a four story building, but her torso was as thin as her six insectile arms that bent and moved mechanically. Every inch of skin was a deep navy blue, lined by pin-stripes like an expensive suit. Her sixth and final hand hovered by a face with no eyes or nose. One bony finger was pressed to blue pouting lips.

"Shhhh, it's _our _little secret," Trudy sang huskily.

"H-Holy hell," Paul warbled, inching along the trembling platform with wobbling knees. Below him, the Nightmare began to shuffle the blocks of the Tower like a card-shark would cut a deck, limbs weaving in intricate patterns. Vincent scoffed when the lawyer suddenly turned and threw himself against the nearest edge and began to climb upwards. "Help me!" Paul burst out, partly furious, mostly terrified for his life.

Finally.

"... Well, maybe one piece of advice – don't look down," Vincent tossed back calmly, then opened up a black portal to his left. Paul was spitting vile threats and insults at him, but the attorney was no longer Vincent's concern. He left him there to face his personal demons, just like every other schmuck that had been tossed down into Babel. Just like every other sinner that didn't want to know or face their weaknesses. Vincent discarded the butt of his cigarette over his shoulder as he exited, the portal snapping shut on one final "shhhhh" before he left Paul to face the ugly underside of his soul.

**.  
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**.**

One miserable hour of searching later, and Catherine was nowhere to be found. That meant she was bored with Vincent, but he didn't take it personally; her moods were chaos itself, and learning to accept the unpredictable roller-coaster of her affections and grudges had been the first hurdle in loving her. Vincent lingered, frustrated that she had chosen _now _to lose interest, then left the throne room to find somewhere else to brood.

_A disappointment._

He listlessly roamed the darker stretches of his realm for something to do. He wore his mood on his skin, so the few demons and succubii that saw him hastily retreated, skulking into the shadows as if that would shield them. At some point, he stretched his power experimentally, breaking down the ancient scenery and rebuilding whole areas on a whim. Not even defying time, space and the laws of physics scrubbed away the feeling of inadequacy that clung to Vincent's heart. He was stacking the fallen blocks in the Pit for lack of something better to do when the words bouncing around in his skull finally collided with the memory they belonged to.

_'You're such a disappointment.'_

… _She was leaving him. She scuffed at the floor of his apartment with her heels, hands on her hips and face lowered so that he couldn't see her expression. His skin had gone cold. The muscles across his stomach clenched over the leaden weight within, and eventually the shock recoiled to make way for the hurt. They were just words. She wouldn't even look at him when she said them. But despite that... Those words had hurt more than the knife Catherine had sunk into his side. It had hurt more than the blonde's teeth breaking the skin on his shoulder._

_She was leaving him._

The black energy that held the stacked blocks together evaporated. They toppled without its support and sank into the decomposed sludge at the base. Vincent watched as they were sucked under.

He knew damn well that he wasn't a great guy. He had run from the ugly truth of that for most of his climb. But he'd faced his own lies, his cowardice, his selfishness... and he'd done the right thing despite it all. He'd turned away Catherine, was going to propose, marry, then raise the child he wasn't ready to have. It hadn't been enough.

Vincent stood. A portal was already open and waiting for him, but he didn't remember summoning it. He stepped through anyway.

When Katherine had ended their relationship, she'd broken his heart. So completely that he'd barely recognised the town he'd stumbled through. So thoroughly that he couldn't sleep despite the freedom from his nightmares. He'd called and messaged and begged her to come back, but Katherine had always been stronger than he was. She left him at the mercy of his own inadequacy. He still remembered the pure relief of seeing Catherine again; he was uglier when he was with her, a far worse person who was weaker to his flaws... But the worse he got, the more she rewarded him, and he couldn't have adored her more for it.

Here and now, the bedroom he had stepped into was quiet and sanctified. Vincent's eyes slid half closed to bank a little of the red glow.

… She had folded her clothes into a neat stack and placed the bundle on the edge of the bed. It was so organised, so sensible… so very _Katherine_, that Vincent spent long moments staring at it. And when the ache in his chest had become uncomfortable, he pressed a hand down on the pile, pinning and possessive. The strange moment passed, and he took the sound in the room and denied it for the moment it took to circle the bedstead to where she slept. She favoured one side of it as if she wasn't aware of its size and the hollow space on her left was heavy with shadows. Her hair and skin had painted an artful scene in white against the darkness. One bare shoulder had emerged from the bunched cloth in an enticing curve. Vincent hunkered down beside the mattress and exhaled.

She had always looked angelic when she slept. He'd never told her that. It made her look out of place in the deepest pits of the Underworld. Vincent watched. After a series of heavy heartbeats, he reached forward and carefully brushed the hair from her brow and cheeks; unsurprisingly, her forehead was creased ever so slightly into a frown, features tight. He touched the pinch at the corner of her eyes, the slight clench under the line of her jaw, the rise of her hunched and bare shoulder. The backs of his fingers lingered there and, knuckles a whisper against her white skin, he could see the darkness and sin shifting like shadows over his own.

"... Am I still a disappointment?" he wondered softly, sullied hand turning over to lay its darkness against snowy flesh. He stared at the effect for a moment, not satisfied at all. She shifted then, and the brush of her skin under his palm was soft, not slick like he'd grown accustomed to. Vincent lingered longer than he should have, reacquainting himself with an unguarded face that he never thought he'd see again.

Impulse won. He didn't even hesitate to move his mouth to hers, but a million excuses chased the reason for it around in circles. He let them spin. Katherine stirred lightly under the kiss, lips parting for a soft sigh that he swallowed and savoured. Even with her pliant and unresponsive under him, the lightest brush of skin caused such perfect friction that it made every inch of him prickle. He pretended that the kiss wasn't just another of his lies. He convinced himself so effortlessly that it wasn't long before she hummed a note of discord against the full press of his mouth, against the edge of his tongue that had already moved to taste her. Vincent pulled back instantly. Katherine tossed irritably against the satin but slept on.

Pulse thudding and chest aching, Vincent rocked back onto his heels and fought for a full breath, eyes wide. As if to hammer the reality of the situation home, the expression on Katherine's slumbering face was unmistakable; guilt washed over him instantly despite there being no words to go along with her reproachful frown.

Vincent was still a liar. He may have owned the Underworld and every chaotic creature and power within it, but he was still the same flawed man he had been before that. He was still a cheater, a sinner and a disappointment...

And just like the last time, he couldn't for the life of him stop.

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**.**

When Katherine eventually woke up, she did so badly.

A headache greeted her. It pressed painfully against the backs of her eyeballs, made her uncomfortable thoughts agony and turned her pillow to stone.

The dreams still on the cusp of her mind had been vivid. When they hadn't been poignant memories returning from the sands of time, they had been bizarre scenes of delusion. Either way, each and every one had centred around Vincent. He was so very fresh in her mind that when she licked her lips, she could have sworn that her tongue came away tasting faintly of ash.

Katherine cracked an eyelid as she did every morning, just to prove to herself that he was gone. Satisfied, she delicately turned over and tried to go back to sleep. It took long moments for her hurting brain to catch up.

"Wha-?"

She shot up so quickly that she slid a little on the black satin sheets.

The room was like a dark and twisted parody of her bedroom. It was larger than hers, and it extended beyond where her own back wall would have been to create a large amphitheatre around the needlessly massive bed. But the window was hers, as was the strangely reminiscent vanity table to the left. The few similarities just put everything bizarre about the scene into greater focus. Her disturbing dreams hadn't been dreams at all. She'd woken up exactly where she'd wearily fallen asleep; in the remodelled office of a 10-foot monster, the unwilling tourist in a chaotic and demonic realm. Vincent's special guest.

No wonder she had a headache.

The room was thankfully empty, so Katherine was able to have her minor breakdown in blissful privacy. No one was there to see or hear it, and no one complicated matters by trying to explain away the organic floors or walls. She just had the toxic view to come to terms with. It was hard enough accepting the scenery and the dark doppelganger of her room, but realising that she was a prisoner there because of Vincent was harder again.

What was he? Was he even human any more, or was he simply a monster? Worse still, was he the _king _of monsters?

Katherine slid herself out of the sumptuous bed and shivered. It wasn't cold – quite the opposite – but there was something about the supercharged air that made her skin prickle constantly, as if at any moment fingers would caress a lurid path over her flesh. Instantly, she wrapped her hands around her middle and tried to find her clothes. Ten minutes of frantic searching later, and she had to admit they were gone. She had stripped to her underwear before sleep because she had hated the idea of waking up in yesterday's worn, funky clothes. The folded, aired bundle had been placed _deliberately _at the foot of her bed so she could easily find them again when she woke up. They were not there now. Stripping the satin sheets away revealed nothing. There was no underside of the bed for them to have fallen under because the furniture appeared to have grown up out of the floor like an organic black cube.

The room remained private and empty, but Katherine refused to remain a second longer in nothing but her mismatched bra and panties. With only a little deliberation, she crept her way over to the barred window and tore the cheap lacy curtains down. They made a terrible toga, but it was better than nothing. As clothed as she'd be, Katherine strode her way over to the door. The handle rattled loudly in her hand but not much more; she was locked in. With one final half-hearted tug, Katherine let go and rubbed at her face in frustration. She winced and swore.

One eye stung from the displaced contact and the other went blurry. She didn't need to check to know that the other contact had fallen free. She blinked the remaining one back in place and squinted at the floor blearily. Half a moment later and she knew that finding it on the dark and glistening floor was a lost cause. Rather than exasperating her headache with mismatched vision, Katherine delicately removed the remaining contact and let it fall by the bed; short-sighted, all-but-naked and alone in a luxurious prison, she leant against one of the twisting banisters and tried to calm down.

_ Tap-tap-tap_. Her nails began drumming out an irate tempo on their own.

"I'm going to kill him," Katherine heard herself declare.

It was typically Vincent to blunder head-first into a situation without thinking about the consequences. It was so very true-to-form that _Katherine _was the one to wear his bad judgement. For the very first time, however, she wasn't in a position to take control of his mess. She wasn't able to right his wrongs, to fix what he had broken or to rebuke him for his carelessness. She was angry. Considering how powerless she felt, angry was a great deal better than being scared, so she fed her fury until it burned.

Sometime later, the only door into the room gave a resounding _chonk_. Unlocked, the silver handle dipped and something blue moved up to the widening crack in the door; it took Katherine a few moments of short-sighted blinking before she realised that one round, red eye was pressed to the gap, blinking curiously back at her.

"Erm, excuse me." The door swung partially open and the colossal demon from yesterday stood there. His shoulders were so broad and he seemed so determined to slip into the room that he had to turn to step in sideways, thereafter lingering on the threshold as if he was waiting for something. Katherine glared blearily at him. The moment stretched out long and torturous.

"Well. Here we are," he finally said with forced cheer. When the silence grew even more uncomfortable, he added, "…and did you sleep well?"

"Where are my clothes?" Katherine demanded curtly.

The demon stared at her. Horribly, his eyes slid downwards to take in her impromptu robe, and Katherine was all too aware that she'd had to fold it several times to counter its translucency. She crossed her arms over her chest and set her shoulders.

"Hrm," was all he said.

"Are you deaf?" she shot back. "My clothes! They were on the bed. Now they are not."

"I wouldn't know about any _clothes_," the enormous creature said with a snort. His nose had scrunched in almost amusement, but the expression went stiff when Katherine's eyes narrowed. "That is to say, no one wears any clothes around here, miss. I'd have remembered seeing them."

"Well, _I _can't find them and you're sorely mistaken if you think I'm going to flounce around in a curtain!"

The demon called Nergal opened his mouth to respond, but it snapped shut almost instantly and he was left looking carefully blank. He appeared to struggle for words for a moment, then weakly attempted to change the subject.

"I'm told humans eat. Are you hungry?"

"I can't believe this! Does that mean someone _stole _them? Was someone in here while I was sleeping?" Katherine burst out, furious. In a quieter part of her mind, she was aware that she was shouting at a ten-foot demon. The rage cauterised that observation away.

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Nergal responded stiffly.

"Well, where the hell is Vincent? He has some explaining to do!"

"I have no idea. He doesn't see fit to tell _me_ where he is half the ti-"

"Oh, for crying out loud, what _do _you know?"

Nergal tugged at his cravat.

"... How to make Eggs Benedict? I have this recipe for a low-fat hollandaise sauce, and I don't like to brag, but I'm told it's to die for-"

Katherine threw her hands up and spun away from him mid sentence. The only remaining piece of her outfit from yesterday was her pair of black work shoes; she stamped over to them and shuffled her feet into the shiny heels. She tapped the toes against the floor a few times to settle them and ignored the fascinated stare that received from Nergal. Regardless of the avid audience, she tossed a trailing corner of her curtain over her shoulder haughtily, then strode towards the door. She was almost through it by the time her gaoler roused and threw himself in her way.

"W-where do you think you're going?" he managed, horrified.

"I'm going home, isn't it obvious?" Katherine snapped. The demon was so massive that he blocked every inch of doorway, but that still didn't stop him from weaving in front of her like a goal-keeper.

"You can't leave! That's… It's not allowed!"

"Says who?"

"_Him_," Nergal replied emphatically, the word painting a grimace across his face. Katherine felt herself swell with fury.

"Vincent?" She bristled, outraged. "_Vincent?_ Who says _he _decides where I go? If he thinks I'm going to stay here, he can _damn _well come and say it that to my face!" She had been jabbing her point home with a finger into the demon's chest. Each irate stab made him flinch and retreat a little into the doorway, and it wasn't long before she was able to peer past him and see the empty, gloomy world beyond. Nergal nervously twisted to block her line of sight; with all the reluctance and care of someone dealing with a diseased lunatic, he placed on enormous hand on her forearm and steered her pointing finger away from his chest. He was so huge that his grip engulfed and circled her entire arm with ease, and his fingers were both hotter and rougher than she was expecting.

She gaped at how tiny her own limb looked in that fist, and she didn't realise he was leading her away from the door before her feet hit the discarded sheets.

"I _told _you," Nergal hissed conspiratorially. "I don't know where he is. I just have my orders, mortal, and those are to make sure you stay _put. _So here you'll stay. Believe you me, young lady, if I was still in charge no human would _ever _have set foot in this realm, let alone get such… such _special treatment_. It's outrageous! If you want to blame someone, blame that moronic son-in-law of mine! I can't keep cleaning up his damn messes forever!"

It was a strange thing to hear from someone else's lips. Stranger still was to share that exasperation with something like Nergal.

"But for _now_," the huge creature had continued gruffly, "I don't have a choice, do you understand? I expect you to sit tight and do as you're told, or we'll both be in trouble. Maybe now people will see what bloody mess he's making of… all…"

His desperate tirade very slowly stumbled to a halt. Silence slid into its place. Katherine waited for a breathless moment but no more was said; she gave her arm a belated tug. His grip had frozen over it as if his fingers had been set in stone. Nergal simply continued to stand there, face very still and his eyes ever so slowly drifting up and away. He looked like he was listening to something that no one else could hear. Whatever it was, it drew his brows down into the most harried frown Katherine had ever seen. She roused herself from her surprise.

"Hey, you can't keep me here forever, you know. This is kidnapping," she said sharply, pulling once more at her arm. Her voice obviously never reached him. Nergal blinked once more, then glanced over his shoulder.

"Hey!" she tried again. He continued to listen, continued to grow more and more nervous. Around the time his grip began to get painful was when Katherine's patience broke.

"Un_hand _me!" she snapped loudly, then kicked him in the furry ankle. Nergal gave a short yelp and spun back. As if for the first time, he noticed his own firm grip on her arm and the way he'd almost lifted her from the floor with it. He blinked those strangely long lashes. Half a second later and he abruptly flushed a very deep and embarrassed purple.

"A-apologies," he grumbled, releasing her and lumbering back a few steps. He fumbled bashfully at his beard as Katherine eyed him warily. She examined her skin, expecting to find bruises and seeing only goose bumps instead.

"Were you evening listening to me?" she demanded angrily. Surprisingly, Nergal barely met her eyes when he began to shuffle a little further back. Once more, he glanced over his shoulder.

"Uh, certainly," he lied. "A-actually, as much as I'd love to discuss your detainment, there's… somewhere I need to be right now. Perhaps later. Yes. Some other time."

"Are... Are you serious?" Katherine managed.

"Remember what I said, sit tight, stay put and do as you're told or else all Hell will break loose and nobody would want that!" Nergal babbled, and he was now all but stumbling over himself to leave. Katherine gaped at him, not sure what to say to the sudden change of tack.

"That's _it_?" she burst out.

"Sorry-can't talk-gotta go!" Nergal erupted, and then suddenly a chaos portal leapt up behind him and he all but threw himself through it. Within a heartbeat it had snapped closed over him, and Katherine was left alone and very confused in her vacant cell. She simply stared short-sighted at the space where he had been standing, wondering what on earth had happened and where her quest for answers and retribution had gone wrong. It occurred to her belatedly that she had no idea when Vincent would remember to 'check up' on her, and she would have to eat _eventually._ All of the anger that had been stewing away underneath her skin fizzled and went out. For all her bluster, she was still a prisoner. She was still dependant.

She was still trying to wrap her head around it when she noticed, with a small thrill in the pit of her stomach, that the door to her room was still very open.

She slid a finger up the bridge of her nose as if her glasses were still there, then cursed herself for the forgetful gesture. She blinked her blurred vision a few times and rubbed at her temples, resigning herself to the headache and the inconvenience of bad eyesight. Nothing she could do about that. She'd just have to deal with it. And so, with all the decorum of a soldier tightening their belt, Katherine winched her curtain higher over her chest and tugged on the knot.

"Sit tight? Nobody tells _me _where I can and can't go."

Fear existed somewhere in the back of her mind, and Katherine made sure it was wrapped up and choked by a layer of righteous anger at all times. The feeling struggled to rise up her throat when she approached the door and the monochrome slither of alien scenery beyond, but she swallowed it down and flung the door fully open with a _bang_.

If Vincent and his new legion of cronies thought she'd sit idle and just take this sort of treatment, they had another thing coming. Katherine didn't like being dependent, and she didn't like not being the one in charge.

It was time to take control again.

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

A perfectly long and slender leg stretched out straight and high. One by one, padded toes wiggled luxuriously in the dim light. The boy-crush-blush nail polish (a particularly flirtatious shade of pink) slowly faded into the inky black markings on her skin until there was no trace left. She admired her feet as if the colour was as clear as day. With a pleased little hum, Catherine dipped more polish onto the brush and started on her other sinfully dark set of toes.

The couch she had curled up on was ridiculously plush, and it was laden with as many stuffed toys as there were heart shaped cushions. An ancient and drooping teddy-bear was tucked under her elbow, an equally ancient game console set reverently on the nearby coffee table. When Catherine blew on her splayed toes, her eyes moved around the little room in mild irritation. She wasn't a complicated creature. She didn't understand restraint, so when drinking, sex and adventure stopped being exciting and became a little too mundane to be fun... Catherine came _here_. It was her space, made by her Daddy specifically to remind her that she was his special little girl. The other demons had never seen its interior. Vincent didn't even know it existed.

Catherine finished her perfect feet and admired them with her chin on her folded knees, wriggling her toes until the cotton buds between them fell free. Meaningless time passed. For lack of something better to do, she idly bumped the nail-polish off the couch and watched blandly as it emptied itself onto the woolly throw rug. No one swooped down to clean it up, so the splotch of flirty pink eventually dried and hardened there. Catherine irritably puffed her tickling fringe of hair from her eyes.

She was slowly pulling out the stitching that held one of the droopy teddy-bear's button eyes in place when her patience finally broke. She leapt to her feet and threw the stuffed animal to the ground with an acrimonious _whump._

"_Daddy, _where _are _you?"

He burst into the room instantly, tripping out of his chaos portal in his haste.

"Here! I'm here! A-Am I late? What did I miss?"

Nergal barely gave himself time to right himself. He banged his shin against the coffee table and fell awkwardly to the couch in a cascade of plushies; he snatched up the game controller and had started pressing buttons before he even realised that the console wasn't on. The desperate clicking began to slow. He guiltily turned his big red eyes up to his daughter.

"Daddy," Catherine said warningly, a blanket complaint.

"Y-Yes, Sweetums?" Nergal replied nervously.

"Did you _forget _about me?"

"How could I forget about my Princess?" Nergal consoled, but he was already squirming between the miniature mountain of teddy-bears. "I... I was just very busy, that's all. My work is very important - you know that, Pumpkin."

"Important?" She raised her eyebrows. "But doesn't Vince have your job now? Remember that, Daddy? That makes you unemployed. You can't be too busy to see _me_, and I was waiting forever and I didn't have anyone to help me with my nails!"

Guilt, wrath, sarcasm and pride warred across her father's face; Catherine let him stew on it while she brushed and twisted her hair into order. And while Nergal grumbled and groused out what may have been an excuse, that's when it struck her.

Her father smelled of the same subtle perfume that had lingered on Vincent's skin.

The controller was comically tiny in his enormous hands, and he probably didn't even know that he was continually pressing the 'x' button over and over as if to distract himself from whatever excuse he was babbling. Catherine stood over him, bare feet planted firmly on either side of his cloven hooves, eyes slowly narrowing. She had stopped twisting and twirling her hair. The blonde-to-black spiral remained coiled tight around her finger, and Nergal's tirade stumbled to a halt shortly after her motion did. He began to sweat.

"M-Muffin?" he attempted.

"Daddy, were you late... because of a _girl_?" Catherine wondered, allowing her hair to peel free like a dying vine. It curdled like chaos in the air before she forced it back into a spiral. The small loss of control was not lost on her father.

"Catherine, Sweety," he began. Catherine lifted a leg and put her foot firmly on the couch edge between her father's knees. He jumped and then very wisely went still.

"You forgot Father Daughter Night, didn't you?" was the next query.

"Y-You know I would never-" was the strained reply.

"Was she fun_?_"

"Sugarplum, I really don't thi-"

"More fun than _me_?"

He was sweating fully now, shoulders hunched and knees knocked together as far as they could go with her foot lodged just beneath them. He wore guilt like he wore his striping, skin-deep and clear as day. He gave a comical squeak when she leant forward on her raised leg; he swallowed loudly.

"Who is she, Daddy?" Catherine asked in a low voice. He paused, and that was more telling than any number of excuses.

Letting Vincent hang himself with his lies was fine by Catherine. Their No-Strings-Attached relationship was a mine-field of loyalty and betrayal that was the only way to make their commitment fun. But her _father_? There was only one soul in existence that Catherine allowed herself to be fully bound to. There was only one heart, one relationship that would remain unchanged throughout the aeons, and having a stranger weasel in on that was deeply, deeply disturbing.

She didn't like it.

Catherine lifted her foot. Her father let out a relieved sigh. And then, vengefully, she drove her heel down on target and subsequently knocked the couch on its back, upending Nergal completely and burying him in a small avalanche of stuffed toys. Catherine pressed her bare, black foot down on her father's vulnerables and ground her ire out. She let him thrash until her point had been made, then picked up the teddy-bear that had been smothering his face and pouted down at him.

"Daddy," she chided. Nergal clutched himself and grimaced.

"Y-Yes, Snookums?"

"I'm going to count to five."

As it was, she only needed to count to four. Her father lurched up and waved his big hands at her, defensive and desperate and eyes darting worriedly to her hovering foot. She relented.

"Now, let's not be hasty, Princess! Daddy can explain!" he began, enormous blue shoulders shifting as he picked himself up. He was half shielding his crotch when he found the words to continue. "I-I was just finishing up my work, is all! These new demonesses, they're pretty unsure about how it's done around here – they don't hold a candle to you, darling - so I had to supervise! Your _husband _forgets that it's one of his duties, you know. And like all of his messes, it's one I have to clean up."

Remembering Vincent and all his failings overrode her father's nervousness. Nergal finally stooped to right the fallen couch and it groaned when it settled back in place. He gave the cushions a distracted pat before he began stacking the teddy-bears in their places as if he'd done this many times before.

"That was it," he continued, waving a hand and erasing the nail polish stain from the rug as if it had never been. "I was just settling the new girl in, that's all. I would never forget my little Lambchop, never ever."

Catherine tapped her pouting lips with a fingertip, contemplative.

"Hmmm, so long as it doesn't happen again," she eventually conceeded.

Nergal's face was a picture of pure relief when he took his seat again, and Catherine settled herself in beside him and propped her feet up on the coffee table, wiggling her toes for him to admire. And while he simpered approval at the invisible pink, she thought a little more about the guilty edge to her father's voice. There was no forgetting that strangely subtle perfume that still tickled at her nostrils: this new girl was a mystery. Catherine puffed her hair from her eyes once more and nodded to herself.

Despite what Vincent or her father thought, there wasn't much new or exciting that arrived in the Underworld that escaped her or her critical evaluation. Her lips curled into a feline smile. She was excited for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

Catherine would find this newcomer that had caused such a fuss. She really, really looked forward to introducing herself.

**.  
>_<strong>

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: An update, finally! To be truthful, for a while there I thought I HAD dropped off the face of the planet. I got a chapter out eventually, sorry for the delay.**

**I think the kind of love Vince has for his Chaotic family and fun-filled life is a unique one. It made a lot of sense to me looking through the Chaos confessional answers, but transferring that understanding to the characters was a bit challenging... and a lot of fun. Who am I kidding, Catherine and her attention deficits amuse me greatly.  
>Also apologies for what may be a choppy, undirected chapter. I feel all out-of-practice and awkward with words. :( Hopefully wasn't too bad!<strong>

**Anyhue, a big thanks to all your continued support! Updates look like they'll be a little erratic, but I'm always chipping away and hopefully 6 won't take too long! Stay Tuned and Stay Golden!**


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